Everybody has a secret. I don't care who you are or how honest you think you are with your friends and loved ones, somewhere along the line, we are all hiding something. Sometimes secrets are little, insignificant things that don't hurt anybody if you choose not to share them. Some secrets are treasures, things we keep to ourselves so that we alone can savor the glorious knowledge. Then there are those secrets that can rip lives apart, turn people to the dark side, ruin your good standing in the community, drive you to drink cheap wine in your backyard around a bonfire...That's the kind of secret that I inadvertantly revealed a couple of weeks ago. I will share it with you now.
My deep dark secret is this: I wear granny panties. The bigger the better, that's my motto. I've never particularly enjoyed buying underwear for several reasons: Victoria's Secret is that she hates anyone over a size 5; no one but my husband ever sees my underwear and he's seen me without makeup so the jig is up, so to speak; plus I don't like to buy things I can't try on and let's face it...eeewwww! So I'm a bulk briefs buyer. The bigger the package, the lower the price, the uglier they are, the better. I have experimented with cutesy underwear and it ended badly...with a really itchy rash, actually, but that's a whole other secret.
So about two weeks ago, a good month into my "lifestyle modification" which requires depriving myself of anything that tastes good and strapping myself onto machines with names that sound like they came from a Transformer's cartoon (Cybex??? ARC Trainer???? at least in medieval times they called a spade a spade) I was down 13 pounds and in a hurry to get to an appointment so I went to my old standby: a fabulous pair of black gauchos that I got for next to nothing at a second hand shop in Louisville, KY. When I bought them, they were a couple of sizes too big, but they were such a steal! I threw them on, over the first pair of granny panties that I pulled out of the dresser, threw on a white t, my favorite gray jacket and headed to Hannibal where I was fighting the evil forces of Medicare underinsurance.
Of course no trip to Hannibal is complete without a stop at Big Lots to stock up on mismatched socks and yes, bargain bin granny panties. Running behind as I usually am, I was hurrying through the aisle, not even thinking about the fact that my gauchos were mucho grande until they crumpled down in a pile around my ankles. I might have survived the debacle hand I not been wearing my pointed toe flats which promptly got tangled up in my shorts and sent me flying face-first, granny panty butt up on the floor. Of course, I was wearing Satan's granny's panties - the bright red ones. So basically the four people sharing the aisle with me knew, without a doubt these things: the fast-walking large woman dropped trou, tripped over said trou, waved her large, red bullseye of a butt up in the air for awhile before landing, face first in the potato chip and snack aisle of the Hannibal Big Lots. There was no getting out of it gracefully. Everyone was obviously so shocked by the sight of red clad buttocks that they couldn't even ask me if I was okay. They did have the grace to wait until I ever so gracefully squat-pulled myself off the floor courtesy of a Little Debbie display and got my gauchos pulled up to start laughing.
And so now I live in fear, each week ever so casually watching America's Funniest Home Videos and searching YouTube to make sure that I haven't made my debut. I'm not sure if they have surveillance cameras at Big Lots, but I don't want to be caught off guard and so I am trusting everyone that reads this to be my confidante, to call me and let me know I've made my debut. And how will they know it's me? Just look for Satan's granny's panties and a face to match.