I woke up this morning. With a wedgie.
I was deep in sleep mode, when I was rudely awoken by what seemed like thirty yards of fabric stuck between my cheeks. In my semi-lucid state, I dug it out, and went back to sleep. But darn it if that fabric didn’t shift with my body and bury itself in the abyss again!
As I lay there, awake and angry about all the action my bottom was getting, I seriously thought about throwing away the underwear I was wearing - if I wanted any kind of material stuffed in there, I’d wear a thong! And mama doesn’t do thongs.
Personally, I prefer not to wear thongs. No matter what, I always feel like I have to pull it out. But I have several girlfriends who are of this mentality:
Thongs or Die
The thong community is a pretty passionate group, huh?
Now, let’s get an idea of where their passion has taken them:
They won a small - though short lived - victory in the 80s, when exercise leotards went thong:
I think that some of their more enthusiastic members have been working hard this past decade to bring some of that glory back:
Though they’ve owned Brazil and South Beach in Miami, for quite some time now, I think the vast majority of their members are discreet, preferring the style just so they can avoid VPL (Visible Panty Lines):
Thong Sisters (and Brothers, so I hear), I applaud your enthusiasm and your hard work in trying to ‘free’ the rest of us granny panty wearers. If I weren’t so afraid of floss chaffing, I could maybe be one of you.