You Do It to Yourself

My underwear drawer has been looking kind of sad, by which I mean the elasticity has gone out of most of the elastic and the cotton is ridden with enough holes one might think moths had moved in. This is what happens when over the course of five or more years, you buy maybe three new pair of smallpants: your underthings dishevel beyond punk until they lose basic functionality.

Therefore, Ciro and I stormed Victoria Secret and bought a raft of frilly things at remarkable sale prices. Some of them have bows, embroidered fish, and sequins. It's patriotic.

However, I can't try any of them on for about a week, thanks to certain hormonal timings. We are reduced to arranging the panties on the floor and imagining.