So,
have you ever gone to a fancy event at a five-star resort dressed to the nines in a flattering dress only to realize you picked the wrong pair of underwear because the minute the valet opened your car door and you stepped onto the sidewalk you felt your panties begin to bunch up and roll their way down your butt and you had to sort of pinch everything long enough to get inside the building so you could find the nearest restroom and when you finally made it inside a bathroom stall and unclenched your various lady parts your panties collapsed in a heap upon the tiled floor (though not a giant heap) so like the big girl you are you put them back on and marched outside where your dashing husband and darling friend were waiting for you but a few short seconds later your drawers started rolling down your backside again and you tried to nonchalantly pull them back up – which required a lot of tugging and twisting and picking – as you walked towards the red carpet that led into the event you were attending and after the fifth or sixth time your husband and your friend simultaneously hissed at you, “What the hell are you doing,” as you walked past a bunch of fancy people who didn’t seem to have the same undergarment struggles you did and you hissed back “My bleeping underwear keeps falling down,” and your husband and your friend suggested that you stop picking your butt in front of these strangers ASAP because it made you look some sort of deviant, and that instead you ditch the underwear and go commando for the duration of the evening and you realized that you really didn’t have a choice so you waddled strategically back to the restroom and stuffed your underwear into your teeny tiny Coach clutch and for the first time in your adult life spent the rest of the evening enjoying a nice breeze and trying not to slide off the stools while you attempted to pepper the phrase “don’t get your panties in a bunch,” into every conversation you had while you giggled smugly to yourself and on the ride home you felt exotic and free but also a little concerned about how many health code violations you were responsible for because even though you have what most would consider to be excellent personal hygiene habits you couldn’t help but feel guilty about your lack of proper undergarments and then you thought about all of the other women in tight fitting dresses and zero panty lines  and so you momentarily considered calling the resort with an anonymous tip to give the furniture a good scrub down with some industrial strength bleach or maybe just to set a few chairs – particularly the ones located towards the back left hand side of the ball room – on fire.

Yeah, just checking.

Um, me neither.