Wardrobe Malfunction or T.M.I.

This is another of those "women's issues" posts. If you can't handle it, step away from the computer & I'll catch you later. I don't really blame you, I wouldn't want the scarring metal imagery either.

For those of you brave enough to hang in there, I'll pray for you...here goes.

Underwear isn't about who you are wearing it for, it is about how it makes you feel. Basic briefs are comfortable, but boring. Your grandma wears them and nothing about them makes you feel pretty, let alone sexy. When I wear them I feel frumpy and fat...I avoid them.

The hipster brief, especially when decorative, is better. Pretty, conservative but make you feel pretty. Then there are thongs and/or g-strings. I long thought that only sluts wore them. That the only reason one would wear them was if one was getting action, and then it would only be on ones body for the shortest amount of time possible. They would be incredibly uncomfortable, wouldn't they? Dental floss up your crack, you spend your life trying to get your underwear out of your crack, why would you want something to stay there, and all the other arguments come to mind.

I was wrong. I know that's hard to believe, but it is true. While I don't think I would wear them on a daily basis, the ones I have are, surprisingly, not uncomfortable. The magic is in how it makes me feel! I am sexy! Not in a flash the string, I need to get some now & I don't care who it is way, but a self confidence I am a W-O-M-A-N kind of way.

Now on to the incident. Yesterday was casual day at work. The jeans I was wearing were the at the hip kind and all the clean underwear I had would have overlapped...gross. Even if nobody saw it, I would know it was bunching up and overlapping, like putting too much batter in a muffin tin. So I found the g-string. It wouldn't overlap & would make me feel good...no problem! I wore it all day and the confidence boost was a good thing since I'd worn a shirt (that always made me feel pretty...before I lost weight) that was fine, but I felt completely frumpy. That shirt is going away this weekend. Every time I would see myself in the damn gold doors on the elevators and cringe at how eeewwww I looked, I would just smile & remember that I was wearing rockin undies.

After work DM wanted to go to the drive in with the minions to see "Night at the Museum" because the weather was so beautiful. It was fun, the movie was FANTASTIC, a good time was had by all. On one of the multiple potty excursions with the Princess, it happened. The pelvic floor of a woman who has had multiple children is an elusive thing. They say "just do Kegels, it will strengthen things right up." They are lying bastards and I hate them. They obviously are men and haven't ever squeezed something the size of a watermelon through an opening the size of a grape, and lived to tell about it. They don't have to worry about when they last used the facilities when out with their friends, because to laugh too hard could cause a little ole accident. They have never uttered the phrase "Stop making me laugh, I'm going to pee!" They have never had to make the decision to put on a pad or fore go the trampoline, when the kids are begging for a family jump. But I digress.

The Princess & I went in to the restroom, I sent her into her stall & then realized that it would be a good idea for me to avail myself of them as well. I entered the dingy, rickety stall (drive in bathrooms are worth a post all by themselves!) and as I began unbuttoning my jeans I realized the need was greater than I thought, so I started moving more quickly. I did the, hook the thumbs in the undies and pull everything down at once, move.

I got hung up!

The string, from the g, was entangled. In hair. It wouldn't budge. By this time my bladder could see the toilet. That is the place to let loose, thought the bladder, and it didn't care that I wanted to halt the action. I reached down, grabbed the offending string...and got a palm full of urine! That was not my intent!!! I yanked the g-string free and then reassured the Princess that it was okay, it's normal for Mommy to scream in the bathroom. Somehow the jeans were not soiled and I dried my tears and went to watch the rest of the movie.

So now we know that the g-string is not just an undergarment, it is a very effective depilatory as well.

To all the moms out there.

I sincerely hope that all the moms out there had a fabulous Mother's Day.

Tho I do realize that the reality is probably a little hum drum. My first Mother's Day, 16 years ago, was a let down. I tried not to let it get to me since I'd been scarred by M'sDs in the past that had been less than scintillating for my mother. Now, as I look back, maybe we were ungrateful, but she was widowed mom & had no one to rally the fiends for a grand M'sD spectacle. Then when she married when I was 15, nothing (if anything) that we came up with was good enough. So based those experiences, I tried not to gear up for something wonderful. But I HAD just given birth. DM would have gone over the top for a wondrous day for me, right? Nuh uh. I really don't recall what occurred, so it couldn't have been terrible. The second year the expectations were even lower. I had a darling little 1 year old and had been doing the mommy thing all this time. A little r & r, a modicum of pampering would have been nice. No such luck. When I went to the mom's group at church the following Tuesday I was finally able to see M'sD for what it is...a marketing ploy by the greeting card industry, that has been designed to merely increase their revenues, which results in millions of moms getting their hopes up only to be hopelessly dashed by their husbands and children. All the moms (of various ages & income levels) in this group sat around complaining about what a horrible M'sD they had...for the entire time! It was a "my Mother's Day was suckier than yours" contest! It was then that I decided that the whole M'sD thing is sucky and to not let myself get hung up about it. The only problem is...I AM A GIRL. We forget the past pain and always wind up thinking that this year they will come through...nope. Doesn't happen. Two weeks before the day, I had gone to the gluten free bakery and picked up their flier for all the special Mother's Day yum-yums they were making. I showed it to DH and posted it on the fridge. About 3 days prior I sent DH the email from Cookies From Home, they now have a gluten free line that taste just like the originals. That and no/less fighting/yelling is all I really wanted.

The following was my day.

Woke up late, because DM was awake half the night & didn't set the alarm. Now, that is no problem for me, but we were taking his mom out, to church, eat and the cemetery. So we had to move quickly. This means that DM was exceedingly driven (not real bad, but irritating just the same). We got in the car, DM didn't want to drive since he's tired (see above) and his tummy hurt (he took his antibiotics with no food and there is a war in there). He tells #1 to drive, since he thought I didn't want to. I didn't, but would rather have a sharp stick inserted in my ocular cavity than have #1 drive with both Wawa (MIL) & DM in the vehicle. Imagine being an inexperienced driver carting around Nurse Ratched & Joan Crawford...that would be more fun. So I drive. We forgo church to visit the cemetery first (get it out of the way before it gets too hot) then to brunch (the antibiotic was tunneling it's way into his spleen). DM chose The Shout House. A dueling piano bar, think this, but in the daytime, with brunch.

What we actually got was this.

It wasn't bad, but it was a country-esque cover band. If anyone knows anything about me, they know that I am not a country music aficionado. There are some songs I enjoy, but the rest inspires anything from irritation to blind rage in me. The food was fine, but so much that I couldn't eat. I did speak with the head chef, but he really didn't have a clue about things gluten. So I was essentially on my own. They had an entire table of desserts. The lemon bars, carrot cake, chocolate bar thingys, etc. I sat at in my seat with the view above and had a heated debate with myself.

Self: Maybe I should just forget it and eat a lemon bar.

Me: No, I don't want to be crazy.

Self: We're always crazy, what is more so?

Me: Crazy in a "good" way is fine, racing, panic, muddleheaded, Tasmanian Devil in my chest is bad. And no muddleheaded cracks out of you!

Self: I'm just saying... We probably got accidentally glutened anyway what with cross contamination in the sponge eggs cause they were next to the ones with chorizo and people used the same big spoon for both.

Me: I was careful, used my own spoon and everything! I'll be okay...I hope. Damn those lemon bars look good.

Self: How long has it been since you've had one, hhhhmmmmm? Too long, and they are delicious. The one at the back of the table is calling your name, I can hear it. Oh look! It's waving it's powdered sugar at you! Please, pick me...I was made for you...I won't hurt you...much.

Me: No! I can do this. Nothing tastes as good as not being crazy feels! Shut up self, I'm not listening to you.

Self: Ttthhhhhppppbbbbtttt!

The rest of the day was much the same. The kids were very sweet, but bickered and poked at each other like always. DM went in spurts of extra driven-ness. Took out Wawa for dinner after church, with results much the same as the brunch.

Afterward I went to Baskin Robbins, by MYSELF, as I had already gotten to watch them eat delicious ice cream that I wasn't sure was safe for me to eat and was NOT about to share...or listen to the begging. I treated myself to "God's ice cream", the finest ice cream known to man. I might still be glutening myself if this contained it. Peanut butter & Chocolate ice cream...perfection.

So...all's well that ends well...or some such.

I'm already planning M'sD for next year. Something involving just moms, no husbands, no kids. Along the lines of a pedicure, lunch and movie fest. It has possibilities and I have a year to prepare them.

Upon going to bed I did realize that there are so many amazing/special/fabulous moments, every single day, being a mom that trying to orchestrate an event is bound to backfire.

I hope yours was fantastic...or at least that you didn't cry (I didn't BTW).