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wedgiesaurus vex

09 Apr

You guys, you guys, the internet was invented for the story that I’m about to tell you.  It’s not all that climactic, and it’s not all that thought-provoking, but it is completely and utterly inane and involves my butt, and therefore belongs on the blogosphere.

It began yesterday morning when I was getting dressed in our freezing bedroom.  Even though it’s April, I still find myself a perpetual icicle.  Taylor has demanded that we start turning down the heaters to save money.  I just wait until he isn’t looking and then crank them back to Equator-like temperatures.  It’s all very passive-aggressive, but I have to give Taylor something to complain about so he doesn’t make up crazy stories about how I have to sort all of our dishes by size, color, and shape before I can wash them.

If he tells you that, it’s a lie, by the way.

Anyway, so I’m standing there in the bedroom staring morosely at the same pair of grey trousers that I wear four out of five days of the week.  They’re not really unstylish, per se.  They’re just…I don’t know, maybe a bit frumpy.  I got them from Ross for a tasty fifteen dollars, and they are beginning to develop some little threads around the edges and some wrinkles where there should not be wrinkles.  They don’t do a lot to make me feel like a fabulous female.  Staring at myself in the mirror, I decided to do something drastic.

Today, I told myself, I am going to wear sexy underpants.

This is a big deal for me.  Taylor can tell you my underpants are about as sexy as snot on the sidewalk.  I have a pair of underwear, you guys, that I have literally had since the seventh grade.  They are full of holes and fit bafflingly well.  In a sort of rebellion against my terrible underpants, Taylor went shopping and bought me several pairs of panties that he deemed ‘stylish’, and you know what?  They totally were.  There was a little brown pair with polkadots, and a pair of pac-man boyshorts, and a white pair with a little dangly metal heart and pretty paisley black flowers.  It was this pair that I decided to wear this morning, as a sort of sexy secret that I could keep for the rest of the day.  I slid them on, admired myself, wondered if it was supposed to be attractive that they only covered like half of my buttcheeks, and decided that it apparently was.  I finished getting ready and I headed off to work.

The office, as per the usual, was busy.  This weekend is National Open House Weekend (it is like a holiday for realtors, in the same way that Lent is so much fun) and we have a total of seven homes being hosted.  I’ve spent much of the last week looking like an apoplectic pug as I rush through my work, frantically writing ads and editing photos.  People slow down and stare as they pass by my office, listening as I mumble feverishly to myself.  “Three bedrooms three large bedrooms detached new carpet two acres three acres? Two acres.”

After a few hours of this, I stood to go get a cup of water, and then it happened.

My sexy underwear, in a renegade act of spite, migrated quickly and permanently up my butt.

This was not just a wedgie.  This was an act of God.  My underwear behaved in a manner contrary to science, ethics, and the basic tenets of the American Constitution.  There was internal bleeding.  I immediately feared a heart attack, because of the panties that were suddenly clogging my arteries.  My eyes crossed, I lost my breath, and my boss came into my office to discuss the flyers for this weekend.

OH GOD.

Trying hard to blink the tears out of my eyes, I listened and took notes, willing her to vanish for just a moment so I could readjust.  After our conversation, she handed me a packet of papers and asked me to deliver it to the front.  I did, doing the Wedgie Walk the whole way, jigging in the hope that my underwear would take mercy on me and retreat.  On the way back, our buyer’s agent asked me to run out front and drop a letter in the mailbox.  I did, praying with every step that I wasn’t about to hemorrhage and collapse in a bloody pile on the floor.  The paramedics would arrive too late, and look at my sad, be-wedgied body and sigh.  “Happens every time,” they’d say, and lean on each other for comfort while the new guy ran outside to throw up.

Wow, a real tendency towards the morbid in my blog posts lately.  Sorry about that.  Must be the weather.

Anyway, I was finally able to remedy the situation when I got back to my office with a quick waddle and tug, and felt instantly better.

This happened no less than four times that morning, with varying results.  Somehow, though, when I left to come home for lunch, it didn’t occur to me to merely remove the offending garment and replace it with something a little less violent.  Instead, I ate a sandwich, watched the latest South Park episode, and skipped merrily back to work.  Tum-ta-da, life’s okay.

That afternoon, unsurprisingly, things were no better.  After the third wedgie I was standing in my office, contemplating my options.  I could just take the underwear off.  Maybe that was the best plan.  Just go commando for the rest of the day.  Only a few more hours, that’s not too bad.  It’d be vaguely uncomfortable, but probably a lot better than the whole Spanish Inquisition going on up my buttcrack.  It was decided.  The underwear had to go.  I made a beeline for the restroom, and I could feel (with the theme from Jaws swelling in my mind) the wedgie creeping.  This was a bad one.  I could already tell.  This was the Armageddon of wedgies.  There would be no coming back from this.

Moments away from the restroom door, I was blindsided by a question from our office manager.  We talked for ten minutes, every second the pain growing greater, just feet from salvation.  It was all unbearable.  Finally, the office manager squinted at me.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Me?  S-sure.  Fine.  Great.  Utterly magnanimous.”

Magnanimous?

Whatever.  Magnanimous.

“Because you’ve got like…there’s a weird expression on your face,” she said, trying to duplicate my grimace.  I laughed unnaturally.

“No! HA!  HahahaHA.  NO.  I’m just excited about this weekend.  Weekeeeeend!  You know how it is.” I chummily socked her in the elbow.  She raised her eyebrows at me.

“It’s Thursday,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.  “I’m that excited.”

We regarded each other in silence.

Yaaaaaaaay.” I added.

“Well, come with me to your office.  I need to work on the network connections back there,” she said.

Morosely, I followed her.  I didn’t get another chance to go to the restroom, not for the rest of that day, and when I got home that evening I had barely pecked Taylor on the cheek before I swept into the bedroom and changed clothes.

I have learned my lesson.  Sexy underwear is for the adventurous only.  From now on, I’ll stick with my torn-up granny panties and Hanes 5-Paks.  The whole thing was too traumatic to attempt repeating, and I’m no glutton for punishment.

There.  Don’t you feel enriched for knowing my story?  The blogosphere: truly a strange and wondrous place.

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18 Comments

Posted by on April 9, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , ,

18 responses to “wedgiesaurus vex

  1. sami Alam

    April 9, 2010 at 11:51 am

    it was one of the wonderful post i’ve seen…
    outstanding balance of stuffzz….
    Amazing work….
    learnd a lot
    Visit mine and plz plz plz post your comments…

    Thank you…i’ll b in touch….

     
  2. rubybastille

    April 9, 2010 at 12:03 pm

    Oh the boyshort wedgie. They were boyshorts, right? Because boyshorts are the worst. It makes you wonder why thongs even exist.

     
  3. erindyan

    April 9, 2010 at 2:05 pm

    I’m with ruby, I bet they were some sort of cropped boy short. HORRID, but at least we got a laugh out of it xoxo

     
  4. Nicole

    April 9, 2010 at 2:11 pm

    That was the most hilarious blog post I’ve ever read.

     
    • Jessica

      April 9, 2010 at 3:46 pm

      You just made my day! Thank you!

       
  5. kateohkatie

    April 9, 2010 at 2:26 pm

    Oh my goodness. You are TOO FUNNY.

    Though contrary to rubybastille, I’ve actually gotta say that thongs are the most comfortable, for me. As long as you get one large enough (I’m a size 4, and I wear size Large underwear to avoid pantylines and Wedgies of Death), there’s a 0% chance of wedgiedom, because the underwear are already there. You can’t even feel ’em.

    Who me? Nawww, I’m not insane. Yet.

     
    • Jessica

      April 9, 2010 at 3:47 pm

      I’m seriously starting to consider taping my underwear to my ass, just to prevent this sort of thing from ever occurring.

      Pantylines, man, that is something that I haven’t even TRIED to figure out yet.

       
  6. Jerry

    April 9, 2010 at 4:18 pm

    I’m glad I didn’t read this in a coffee shop, because I would have sprayed coffee all over my laptop and had to deal with a bunch of other patrons giving me the stink-eye. As is, I just have to clean Pepsi off of my desk. Hilarious post!

     
  7. Liz H.

    April 9, 2010 at 5:12 pm

    LOL! Seriously funny, dude! Thanks for sharing!

     
  8. sarah

    April 9, 2010 at 5:13 pm

    you know, there are underwears that are both sexy and comfy. you just have to figure out which style fits you. boyshorts are teh lamezors for me, too – just doesn’t work on my body. but victoria’s secret has some nice ones with pretty lazy waistbands that are really stretchy and comfortable.

    i only very recently threw out my last pairs of exposed-elastic hole-ridden christmas underwears. and i say: good riddance!

     
  9. Brittney

    April 9, 2010 at 9:05 pm

    I had to force myself to get used to sexy underwear. Now I almost enjoy that terrible feeling.

    That terrible, terrible feeling.

     
  10. Vanessa

    April 9, 2010 at 9:35 pm

    You’re an awesome story teller, but I bet you get that all the time. By the way, I really think– and I’m sure this sounds DUMB– that thongs are the solution here. Once you get used to them, they’re comfy with the added no VPL thing… and you’ll never have a wedgie because they ARE a wedgie.

    Maybe I’m not selling this idea correctly.

     
  11. jessica

    April 9, 2010 at 10:05 pm

    awesomely funny..

     
  12. Meli

    April 12, 2010 at 10:50 am

    ^Vanessa: thongs are better than wedgies because you don’t get that pulling sensation- they were meant to be there. 😉

    LOL at this post SO HARD

     
  13. Maayan

    April 12, 2010 at 12:59 pm

    I always wondered why people use the phrase “Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” because really? How bad can bunched panties be? But then I learned.

     
    • Jessica

      April 12, 2010 at 4:51 pm

      I am glad I could educate you today. 🙂

       
  14. DerTesafilm

    April 13, 2010 at 1:56 am

    Unterwasche = Jockey They are thin and comfy — the nylon ones especially. The cotton ones tend to stick to your pants and can cause wrinkles. Your brutal honesty was touching and your ass has my sympathy.

     

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