The Panty Police

Sweet Lord. Here I go again.

I don’t know why I feel compelled to share stories about my underpants but I do.

Big Daddy went with me to visit Prissy last Thursday evening. As I was wheeling her back to her room I felt an annoying scratch at the back waistband of my jeans. I reached around and fiddled with it until it subsided. I continued to push her down the hall and felt it again.

It was the tag on my drawers-my favorite pair of underwear.

...Vicky Secret’s second skin satin, leopard print hip huggers.

There’s a picture.

Why are they my favorite pair? Number one, because of comfort. However, when I bend over you don’t get any of the leopard print peaking up over the waist band of my jeans.

I love that!

I’m old school in that I don’t feel right about have my panties shining for God and everyone to see when I bend over.

Evidently, however, that little tag sticks up in the back like a white flag from the French...and I wouldn’t want anyone to think there was a hint of surrender coming from my hind quarters.

After I bent down to pick something up for Prissy and messed with it yet again, Big Daddy said, “Why don’t you just cut that thing out and be done with it?”

What?

Cut it out?

Isn’t that against the law? Isn’t the underwear tag akin to the label on the bottom of your mattress and on your furniture?

This tag may not be removed under penalty of law.

I had visions of cutting the tag off and the moment I make the cut, suddenly and without warning there are sirens and helicopters screaming around me and floodlights shining through my windows. Members of the S.W.A.T. team descend from the ceiling. Still others break down my front door wearing body armor and night vision goggles and aiming M-16s at me.

In an instant all is quiet and there I am sitting on a bar stool at the snack bar in my kitchen, wide-eyed, holding my leopard print panties in one hand the tag in the other.

“Madam,” said Mr. Deep Voice Hottie S.W.A.T. Man. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you in. You’ve been a very naughty girl and I have no choice but to teach you a lesson!”

Then he rips his shirt off and throws me to the floor and…

Sugar?

(Pause)

Babe, what are you doing down there?

Oh! uh, erm, I’m picking Mom’s cup off the floor, she dropped it. Is it... Is it hot in here?

No…Are you alright?

Yeah, but I am NOT cutting the tag out of my underwear.