And today I cut off my panties.

Hellloooooo!! That'll drum up some fun search results on the ol' Site Meter. Thus far, readers who have stumbled in the Cool Boots door searching for "czech weddings" and "Greek toasts" are as racy as things have gotten in here. (And I'm not sure why because I've never MADE a Greek toast. Or eaten any.)
Well, here's a little "race" for you.
I have not shopped for a swim suit in several years. I've been content w/ my workout suits with all their stiff, form-fitting Lycra, fashion be damned. There was the year I bought a couple of Target suits that stayed put the first couple of times I wore them but then the lining revolted and wanted to jump out and wave to passersby at the first opportunity.
I decided I was going to spend a little this year on a swim suit. Spend a little on a good fit, a cute suit, something trendy, one with some staying power. Maybe even spend a lot.
I went to a store that sells only swim suits. Racks and racks of them. All stocked by color and style. Decided to stay AWAY from the "black" wall. ANYONE can do black, right? Chose a couple in bright floral, a couple in brown and blue, and then, as a folly, one that looked a teeny bit like lingerie. A pair of peep toes and some fish nets would've been the perfect accessories. Not for ME. But for an ad in Vogue. Oh, and red lipstick. And a big purse w/ lots of buckles and straps. And skiiiinnnny legs. OK, so ...
Wouldn't you know the damn thing FIT!?! It fit perfectly!! Granted, it showed more than I really should show and SUGGESTED a whole lot more than that. But, I'm fun. I'm a MOM, but I'm fun. And I loved the whole vintage-y, quirky look of it. I was still deciding whether I might be brave enough to wear it to the city pool, when I ... HOLY! DESIGNER! SWIMSUIT! BATMAN! ... looked at the price tag!! Per PIECE!?!?!
The sum of a couple of those Betsey Johnson swimwear numbers equaled a new wool rug in my dining room! Or a new ottoman in the living room! Or the power bill in the middle of August! Or a CRUISE! (And one shopper in my line of sight bought THREE!) Being too cool to act like the price shocked me, I politely accepted when the sales lady asked to hold it for me so I could "think about it." Let me tell you, dear reader, it's still hanging there. Holding.
So, about the panties. There were these clever little disposable panties in the dressing rooms that, because of all the sealed packaging and rustling of plastic, made it very clear to the person in the next dressing room that HELLO! I'm opening my Handy Disposable Panties now!! And now I'm PUTTIN' 'EM ON!! And now, all rigged up in my Handy Disposable Panties and indecent swim suit (which was NOT the darling B. Johnson number with all its dainty stitching and delicate flowers and adjustable straps and THREE DIGIT PRICES! PER PIECE!, but some skanky suit w/ flowers and beads), I start to think, "I need that sales girl to come back." The girl who's been knocking on my curtain every 12 seconds to "help." Now I need her to come back and bring me a different size. Or a different SOMETHING. Because if I can't bear to look at myself in this suit in the dressing room with all its bright lights and screwy mirrors that show EVERY. BUMP. AND. IMPERFECTION., I'm NOT walking out into the store in it. "Lady?" "Lady?" Harummph. So, OVER the Handy Disposable Panties, I put all MY clothes back on. Stomp to the rack to fetch the alternate suit. Stomp back to my curtain. Decide in very un-Betsey Johnson-like style ... "Oh, who am I fooling?" And give up on the whole "spend a lot on a swim suit" charade. Gather all the little scraps of fabric they're calling swim suits, dump them into the outstretched arms of the sales staff, and head out w/ a casual wave and an "Oh, I'll be back."
A funny, creepy feeling while walking to the car reminded me of my disposable panties. Still there. Making me feel all self-conscious. And scandalous. And kinda dirty. And it wasn't until lunch, in a public bathroom, that I considered digging my manicure scissors out of my purse and CUTTING my disposable panties off. Because I just couldn't stand the headache they were giving me.
So I did.
Oh, girls. The price we pay. Or don't pay. To look good. Or not.