We do “casual Fridays” at my office. And with the summer weather now tapering off, and the days “cooling off” to the mere high 20’s (77-84F), I decided to drag some Jeans out of storage this morning. So I’m standing in my walk in closet, trying to be quiet as the girlthing is still asleep, wiggling in and out of jeans I have not worn in about a year trying to find a pair I like. I fell over only once, after getting a leg stuck, but even me crashing into shelving and tipping over in an ungainly heap on the hardwood did not rouse the gently snoring boobs in the bed.
Having settled on a pair that was comfy, I buggered off to work. After a 40 minute train journey into the city and having drunk enough coffee to wake up sufficiently, I step off the train onto a breezy train platform to realize I am not wearing any underwear. I went from “trying on for size” to breakfast in the kitchen having skipped the step of underwear.
Now, for years, underwear was optional for me. But for past year or so I’ve gotten back into the habit of wearing them every day. And apparently that’s where my comfort zone is now. Because I have now spent several hours since this breezy discover completely and utterly focussed on the lack of underwear inside my pants. I’m careful when bending to sit, avoiding bending or squatting, and generally imagining myself in a multitude of situations which might lend to my jeans splitting and my arse hanging out for the world to see.
Is this paranoia?
Or worse yet, the gift of premonition?
I only hope I make it through the day with my dignity intact
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