If living young means dressing young … well, Houston, we have a problem! That’s what baby boomer Kitty Torres of White Plains, New York, writes about in her piece, “Wardrobe Malfunction.”
The last time a near-tragic accident happened — not a car crash or tripping over a rug and breaking a kneecap or anything like that — was when the new silky bikini briefs bought for my family’s state occasion started sliding down my legs.
It’s always at the most inopportune time. My dearest cousin was celebrating his son’s confirmation. Between the church and the restaurant, we walked about ten New York City blocks. This is where the slinky material started leaving the station, making local stops toward my ankles.
How we ladies love our Victoria Secret stash of cute thongs, push-up bras, and even, (for the right occasion), garter belts. All great assets to make us feel glamorous and dazzling. Even this boomer still wants to feel sexy sometimes. Yet when these convoluted articles of lingerie rip, tear, and start inching down our hips heading to the thighs, you know it is time to take corrective action. The bikini brief that seemed like such a great idea at the special sale is now a disaster. How can you talk to your cousin’s wife and hold up your drawers at the same time, and still make sure she doesn’t notice what is going on while we walk?
And why don’t men have this problem? I feel like men’s briefs have waistbands made from titanium. Their pants may fall down and require suspenders but their drawers stay put. Is it that ladies’ lingerie manufacturers don’t care if their garments suck or maybe should suck more? The actress who did the sex scenes in Fifty Shades of Grey said she had a thong crazy-glued to her butt during the steamier sex scenes. Could that be what I need: crazy-glue for a crazy lady to keep my drawers up?
Still, I refuse to go to Sears and procure the granny panties. I am definitely not there yet. I have to have some fun before I call the whole thing quits. Sexy underwear is definitely worth the effort. And at my age, a good bra can work wonders.
Getting back to the last time my underwear started losing its grip, I held on to the offending lingerie through my dress with my left hand and turned toward my cousin’s wife. She was her usual epitome of chic, wearing beige patent leather pumps. Could they be Jimmy Choo’s, I wondered, listening to her chatter about her son’s accomplishments and how they enjoyed city life as a family?
She stopped at the crosswalk and said, “It didn’t seem that far to walk when I came over to make the reservation but I was wearing flats, not high heels.” What we women do in the name of the fashion!
I continued to clutch that lump of lingerie through the outside of my outfit holding on for dear life and prayed to make it to the restaurant’s ladies room, before the wandering garment got away from me and headed south again.
Granny panties suddenly didn’t seem so bad.