Not for any reason in particular... I really did mean to stop by the laundry basket and pick some up on my way out. Somewhere along the way through my morning routine, I forgot altogether that I wasn't wearing any, and wound up leaving without them.
I also happened to be wearing a rather flowy cotton skirt, so as I walked around cubby-land I got little whooshes of air curling up and tickling the insides of my thighs. It was quite pleasant.
And, of course, it got me to thinking - as these things so often do:
I mean, why do we even wear them? It isn't for coverage... Especially not given the way they're cut nowadays. Is it a hygiene issue? Is one layer of clothing not enough to keep the bacteria at bay? Am I going to die of bubonic plague for going commando? Will I be accosted by the Panty Police for forgoing my Huggies in favor of a cool breeze?
It isn't that I don't like underwear... I've got my share of pretty, frilly, lacey, see-through numbers... Granted, I typically bypass these and go straight for the classic cotton thong, but I do have them. I've noticed, though, when I wear them, it isn't typically because I'm going to visit the boytoy, or that any one at all will see them... There's just something that makes you feel pretty when you're wearing girly panties.
Is that it, then? Maybe underwear are designed to be a secret giggle during the day. My boss is being a raving bitch, but because I have on the pink polka-dot g-string, I'm still smiling?
Maybe I'll start a Panty Protest. I could round up some other folks who like the little chafe of denim. We could picket outside Victoria's Secret. Talk about giving the Angels a scare.
Repent! The end is near!"