Dear Woman Whose Entire Rear End Is Plainly Visible Through The Giant Gaping Rip In Your Jeans But Mysteriously Did Not Want To Borrow My Gorgeous Triomphe Du Paladin Scarf To Wrap Around Your Waist Even Though We Both Know That’s The Closest You’ll Ever Get To Hermès,
Sugarlump, if you are reading this –and I hope you are– I think it’s time for Auntie Plumcake to lay a little church on you in re: your particularly tragic pantular situation.I can see your bum. Your nooks, your crannies, the fabrication, weight and pattern (black with pink polkadots? Really? Is it still 2004 where you live?) of your bikini briefs. I can see where they start and where they stop, not as some sort of panty line, but the actual panty itself AND the little red indentation of the lace because they are just a bit too snug.
This? This is too much information.
Do me a favor, look at yourself in the mirror. Are you a Scottish firefighter? Lou Reed in 1972? A member of the U.S. Men’s Olympic Swim Team with a penchant towards nymphomania? No, you are not. You are at my place of business assaulting me (as it were) with your pasty globes of muchness.
Here is a hint. When a woman comes up to you, informs you that you have a hole the size of a sheltie in your jeans, and WITH NO REGARD FOR HERSELF offers you her IRREPLACEABLE FRENCH SCARF so that you might be spared from shame, the proper response is NOT “Oh I couldn’t find anything else to wear today. Besides, no one is really looking.”
No one is really looking? No one is really looking?! I CAN SEE YOUR CASH AND PRIZES! THAT MEANS IT IS TIME FOR NEW PANTS.
The Very Distraught Plumcake