Since that post, it appears we've ignited a firestorm of comments on G-town Web site LNS. Thanks to some of Deacon's loyal followers for pointing this out. We're thrilled you like the site enough to debate about it. There's apparently been some debate as to whether or not we're becoming publicity hounds. Deacon's actually a pretty shy pup. But he did approve of my re-posting a few columns in honor of the holiday o' love coming up next Saturday.
And so, as Marie Antoinette once said, "let them eat cake." In searching through old files to find these articles, we've made just a few modifications to bring them to present day relevancy. Phew! Being creative is draining! Now if you'll excuse us, it's back to our (day) jobs ... happy reading.
Do the Hanky Panky for me
Underwear is the single article of a woman’s clothing unabashedly imbued with sexual connotations. Around Valentines day, entire articles are oft devoted to the subject, including one of our own recent blog posts.
Here's how they generally go: Does your girl wear plain-Jane Hanes briefs? She’s traditional and perhaps a bit modest. A Victoria’s Secret-devotee? She’s conscious of her sexuality and might not be afraid to try something new and different in the bedroom (or out!). Of course, these articles, generally found in places like Cosmo, are about as accurate as the one recently devoted to “what you can tell about your guy based on how he eats an ice cream cone.” Still, the truth remains that a woman’s choice of undergarments really can reveal some pretty personal information. And, um, if she's going commando ... we guess that makes a statement unto itself.
But since my analysis of the science behind women’s choices won’t be any more accurate than Cosmo’s, I’ll refrain from boring you.
The premise behind this column is actually a funny little story …
Once upon a time, in a bitter haze of post-breakup drunk online shopping (a healthier outlet than drunk Facebooking), I came across the perfect “rebound” accessory on NeimanMarcus.com. The 4811. $22 and three days later, I had my gift — a scrap of black lace no bigger than my palm.
Expensive? Sure, but you’ve got to be curious when a thong with a brand name like Hanky Panky makes the cover of the Wall Street Journal.
They were just what I needed — discreet, comfortable and oh-so-sexy, the perfect salve to my much-bruised heart and ego. They were my secret weapon, a confidence-boosting accessory that only I could see.
All in all, a cheap thrill. And sure enough, I eventually found another guy worthy of seeing said panties. And then the inevitable happened. The relationship ended, and my once confidence boosting HP's were now relegated to the very back of my boudoir.
But I wasn't about to limit cocktails or nights on the town to afford a new supply of unseen pick-me-ups. Since that night, I had made a fabulous discovery — other stores sold similar panties for a fraction of the price. My lingerie drawer was full to overflowing. I kept re-filling my drawers with the inexpensive knockoffs. Like casual dates and flings, the one-off wonders worked, for a time.
After all, it’s much easier to “retire” a $2 purchase than a $22 one.
As far as men were concerned, underwear was underwear, and it all looked the same on the floor. But there were times when part of me wanted my secret weapon back.
My quest had become like the search for the perfect guy — exceptionally difficult, and once attained, nearly impossible to find again. Maybe the bar had been set too high — these were practically perfect panties, after all.
But I’m never one to lower standards, and so a trip down memory lane was in order. But I’d learned a valuable lesson along the way. Instead of heading on a budget consolation spree, I went on hiatus and got my affairs in order. And so I decided that despite the quest, one really good pair was better than several cheap imitations. This time sober, I purchased the 4911, a new and improved version of the original.
I never order the same color — like a first love, that each pair was something I was happy to remember, but could never replace. The newest pair is red, ready and waiting for a day when I need a pick-me-up … or the next time I have someone special to share them with.
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