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Check me at the door please!

Someone seriously needs to check me at the door. I was out shopping with some gal friends and I wore a pair of my tighter pants. So when you wear tight fittin’ jeans, it’s only fitting that your underwear line does not show. I know this. Everyone does. It totally sucks when you walk out of the house and you think you look decent. It sucks even more when you think you look pretty darn good. Now I know I sound like I am full of myself, but when I dress up enough to wear make up, fix my hair in anything other than a ponytail, and wear clothes that actually have to be ironed, I am looking pretty good. Feeling it at least. Again, it’s all in my head….

So out we went, with my tight jeans and some thongs. I got home and one of the first things I did was sit at my computer (surprise surprise!). My husband walks by and says, “Did you wear that out?” Immediately I’m all like {how did I know he was going to want to hanky panky with me in my tight jeans?} So, slightly annoyed, I look up at him and reply “Yes, I did.”

“Those thongs need to be torn up!” {Dirty old man! Wouldn’t you just like to tear them up, er off?} and then just like that, I stop in my tracks because I get it. It just dawned on me that I am wearing the ones that are made for slightly taller people, you know, the Victoria’s Secret models. So they ride up quite a bit, um, like a lot. I thought I was safe because the jeans I was wearing were not low rise, but apparently neither were the thongs. So, this is what I looked like at the party:
Only, I’m not that hot and they weren’t that low. That’s not me, I took the image from here.
Needless to say, I don’t need a bottle of Tylenol by the nightstand anymore. Not as long as I have my thongs nearby, or on.

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