Moving on. That Infertile Chick's post about "putting on her big girl panties" jogged loose a memory - it's funny how different things do that. I think Proust had the definitive word on the oddity of the remembering process, so I won't wax eloquent or otherwise here - of a fabulous article. It ran in the Times of London in January 2008, and it's called "Coming to a Bottom Near You: Pantorexia." (English-to-American translation: "pants" or "pant" means "panties," and "big pants" are what's known in the US as "granny panties.")
Just to indicate to you why you must immediately read this article, I offer the folllowing fair use snippet:
People, I’m going to lay this one right on the line, right here, right now: I’m pro big pants. Indeed, . . . I’m currently wearing a pair that could have put out the Great Fire of London at any point during the first 48 hours or so.
This is because I believe if you’re going to do something, you should do it well. If I backcomb my hair, I’m not going to stop until it’s fully 2ft above my head and has to be karate-chopped in the middle if I want to put a hat on. And if I’m going to wear pants, I’m going to wear something that actually contains my entire botty-bot – instead of just hanging around the middle area, scantily, supposedly sexily, like a gift ribbon on a slightly battered parcel.
Really, given just how frequent a relationship the infertile girl must have with her panties (I defy any infertile to tell me that she has never either selected a pair of panties with the day's OB/GYN appointment specifically in mind, or arrived at the doctor's office and wished she had), meditations on the finer points of panties in general can be no stranger to us.
I must say I sympathize with Ms. Moran in eschewing panties of lesser span. I do own a thong (or maybe two), but I think they are atrocious items, crafted by a group of misogynistic S.S. experimenters who were insufficiently occupied on a slow day. While I treasure as amusing and wise the remark of a friend who once said, "I think you can be a good Catholic and wear a thong," and I do not doubt the soundness of her moral theology, my aesthetic objections to them are such as cannot be overcome merely by any moral neutrality. As St. Paul said,
Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. (Philippians 4:8)
I am confident that by "dwell on these things" he meant to include "choose as underpants these things."
For my part, I don't necessarily choose the world's most voluminous panties, but I do try to make covering both cheeks thoroughly a sine qua non of panty selection. Also, I do see a role for a few pairs of flesh-toned panties - they're indispensible for those times you want to wear a white or pastel skirt or dress. (Or pants, I guess, but I have a superstitious fear of white pants.) And though brilliantly colored panties bring joy to my heart, I do try to maintain a critical mass of black panties, to open at least the possibility of coordination with my brassieres. (Why is it so difficult to find matching bras and panties? Even when I go to places that sell them that way in theory, they never seem to match exactly, or the only ones that do match are thongs, or they've sold out of my size.)
Anyway, I would be fascinated to hear the panty-related wisdom of other IFers, dearly bought as it is.