Oh, how jealous I was of Tracy, can’t remember her last name, when she showed me her Underoos in the second grade girl’s bathroom. Those dingy drawers was my introduction to envy, that green eyed monster writhed alive, twisting and turning my guts into mush. Those panties with the gold eagle emblazoned across the chest were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I hated Tracy for them.
But now I discover there’s a cure for people like me, down trodden folks living with the stigma of underroolessness. I’ve heard rumors there are entire clinics hidden in the Alps dedicated to bringing the most stricken back from the brink of suicide. I’ve not located the actual flyers yet as I understand these exclusive spas are open by invitation only. Perhaps, my blog will wrangle me an invitation…
Of course, until then I have to be satisfied with a band-aid fix.
Underoos for the undaunted adult.
They are glorious underpants, I crap you not. Available in a variety of characters, I can now not only flaunt my flabby glutes encased in the blue silk and gold cord of Wonder Woman, I can stand proud and shake my booty in all of the Marvel Comic characters. Turns out I’m rather fond of Spiderman. I haven’t gained any special powers and every time I try to climb the wall in them I fall back down, but GAWD do I feel special! So I guess they do have power after all.
However; these are the underoos my honey prefers I wear. What is your secret indulgence? Who brings out your inner wonder woman?
