So I’ve been thinking a lot about underwear recently.
First, someone in Ireland stole a pair of my underwear. Let me just tell you how unacceptable that is. It is ALL THE WAY unacceptable. I know I joke about packing more underwear than you need in case you need to give some out as souvenirs, but I didn’t actually mean it! But no! Last night in Ireland I get back from the disco and the guy I accidentally jilted for his best friend from grade school is in my room unattended and during the next morning’s panty count (I had to pack, and much like the Marines, I am firmly committed to No One Left Behind) I was down one pair of size 9 Delta Burke light control briefs.
Also, who steals a pair size 9 Delta Burke light control briefs? Not. Cool.
Oh, and SPEAKING of Marines, has no one told them that when one wears white pants, one should probably not wear white underpants as well? Because I won’t say my grandparents’ inurnment service was ruined at Arlington National Cemetery, and by all means Marines bending over with visible panty lines (including, surprisingly, a pair of bikinis) are better than no Marines bending over at all, but it didn’t exactly add to the solemnity of the occasion.
Finally, last week I went to an open mic comedy night fundraiser.
All the performers had to be in their underwear.
I was Not Enthused.
Frankly, if I wanted to laugh at pasty white dudes in their underwear, I’m going to do it the old fashioned way: in hushed whispers on the phone to my best friend while Honky McUnderpants is taking a shower. It’s just good breeding.
Anyway, the hostess, aside from being the only funny person to touch the mic that evening, was also a big girl. She was wearing a corset –thankfully NOT the platter-o-boobs type– a tulle skirt, control-top sheer black tights and heels. The only other woman was in a robe. Meanwhile, every.single.guy. wore boxers, tighty whities or –and fair play for commitment to the theme– a pair of adult diapers. Only one of them remembered to sew up the fly. It was not a good scene.
Later that night, I asked my best friend if she’d strip down to her actual undies –in a non-titillating way– for a good cause. She said probably not.
As for me? I don’t really care.
I’m not an exhibitionist. I’m used to people looking at me because they always have, not because I’m any great beauty but my height/size/features have always been unusual and thus attract attention. It doesn’t bother me. So going down to my skivvies in a totally unsexy way to raise money for a good cause? Eh. No skin off my nose.
The real objections I have are usually tied in with the idea that the only way women are supposed to raise awareness for anything is by getting their kit off. I’d much rather roll up in some joint in my Aint Nobody Gettin’ Any Tonight underthings than get all trussed up in some sexy lingerie-ish ensemble, even if that meant I was wearing more clothes.
So today Miss Plumcake wants to know:
Would you get down to your knickers for a good cause? What would the situation have to be? If yes, why? If no, why not? Would being a big girl make a difference? What about if you were the biggest girl in the room?