First, a nod to one of my favorite musical artists of all time: Jonathan Coulton
I have to wear a uniform at work. Up until recently it was: black shoes, black tights, black pencil skirt tailored to mid thigh, black suit jacket and baggy blue undershirt. Tights. Every. Night. Now I don’t have a problem with tights. I have quite a number of them in varying colors, textures, patterns, and levels of sexpot but wearing boring black tights eight hours a day, five days a week, 52 weeks a year… it gets old. Last week was glorious. Last week we got pants. This is a huge accomplishment for our manager who has been lobbying on behalf of the women here for several years against the stodgy sensibilities of the owners. Women can’t wear pants because… well, we’re women! We are also not allowed to actually tend bar, but that’s not a formal restriction, it’s just how the owners like it and… well, that’s another story.
Right now the story is of the pants! We are supposed to purchase our new pants from Macy’s but I, as a denizen of the night, am not often downtown when the store is open and so have been wearing yoga pants to work. It is glorious. I’m sure it’s highly inappropriate because boy do they cling to the backside, but it’s so freeing and relaxing. They are even high waisted so I can tuck my shirt in which is more than I can say for the Macy’s fashion work pants. Of course the butt-hugging nature of the yoga pants means boy-shorts or lacy panties only, to avoid lines and maintain an illusion of decorum. This brings me to my metaphysical revelation of the day: wedgies can be fucking hot.
Wedgies? I know, weird, but hear me out, ok? The word wedgie is awful and not sexy at all. It comes with connotations of middle school bullying, streaks, and that uncomfortable tickle that must. be. satisfied. However, as I walk around my little castle behind the desk I notice that my sexy gray lacy panties are hugging my soft round cheeks very well. I am acutely aware that, were I not wearing pants, the bottom of my bottom would show, that little ass shelf made by a woman’s finely rounded tush when she stands with legs straight and back arched. The mild discomfort of the lace tracing little crescents atop my moon reminds me with every step that under my clothes I look sexy as hell. I’m a little seductive demon in gray and I know it. The knowledge is sexy and it shows in my face and my walk. I don’t much like thongs, but I can absolutely understand now why they make women feel sexy. When I feel that little string tickling my rosebud, I know my apple is in the eye of every man in the room and the lust is palpable. So when you think ‘aren’t they uncomfortable?’ the answer is yes, they are delightfully, sexily uncomfortable and that’s why we wear them.
I think I may buy a few more pairs this week 😉