When a G-String Catches You In It's Tractor Beam

Wednesday, December 06, 2006
When A G-String Catches You In It's Tractor Beam Current mood: contemplative
Girls, let me share two bits of advice:
1: If and when you decide to put on a G-string...be sure that your pants provide proper coverage in the back in a multitude of positions (standing, sitting, bending over and the like)
2: If and when you decide to wear low-rise jeans (which I highly recommend, they are both comfortable and flattering...a 12 inch long fly should have died with the 70's) please be sure that your underwear choice provides at least some kind of mystery as the appearance of your derriere.
I was at Panera in the mall, not long ago, taking a break from shopping for the perfect holiday dress (that I never found) when I was surprised by a horrifying display. It seems the 30-ish mother at the table in front of me, directly in my line of vision, decided to squat down to put her 15 month old baby boy into his umbroller. She, herself, was there with her own mother, and the three of them together made me miss my mother...they looked like the perfect little shopping party.
I was eating alone, so I had no where else to look, really. The young mother looked average enough. She was wearing semi-dressy clothes and I could tell that she thought she looked pretty hot-to-trot for having such a young kid. I can tell you, she was neither hot nor to-trot. Like I said, she was "average." (Here's where I sound like a total bitch, but oh well, that's my job, it's what I do....) She was clearly fighting a "pear" shape and although her top half was moderately attractive in a black waist length sweater, styled hair and decent make-up, she had squeezed her bottom half into some black dress pants that probably fit "ok" pre-baby, but now...well, she was squeezed in (Oh, I sound awful...) I can say this because I, myself, now prefer any kind of pants with the word "stretch" in the title. Like "Old Navy Stretch Denim." I noticed these fine details as she sashayed off to the bathroom leaving Junior with Grandma.
I was about half-way into my Fandango salad when they were packing up to leave. And that's when Mom SQUATED right in front of me, tenderly (and SLOWLY) securing Junior in his stroller. I saw a flash of flesh, so being the hedonistic troll that I am, I glanced up. I should have kept eating. The soup and salad should have satisfied me enough, but no, I looked. The thing had me like Medusa, I was instantly turned to stone and couldn't move...The thing, was a G-String and a whole LOTTA behind...
It seems that when Mom bent down, her pants went too, revealing a black G-string. Not a thong. At least a thong would have provided some relief, some kind of coverage "back there." No, this was a piece of string around her hips and a piece of string up her bum. And it looked like it was about to cut her in half like a ripe apple.
I saw things that day that only her doctor and husband should have seen.
The G-string was like a light house beacon...both calling me in closer and warning me to stay away...to stay far, far away, lest I meet my demise on a rocky bluff.
I managed to break my stare long enough to turn around to see who else she was flashing. But it was just me. Me, and my Fandango salad (hold the oranges) and my chicken noodle soup. Should I tell her that half of her bottom is seeping out from her pants? I mean, I WAS trying to eat, after all. And this wasn't just a tiny inch of "butt cleavage" which is kind of cute sometimes...no, this was, like, 6 inches of full on crack. I mean, I couldn't even look down to the pants/G-string junction for fear that I would see full-on orafice. Seriously. It was THAT bad. How can you not FEEL when you've dropped your drawers? I mean, they weren't around her knees or anything, but Jeez Louise, surely she MUST have felt a draft. I've bent over in low-rise pants before and I know the "limit" before tattoos start being pointed out. I'll never forget my son's delight the first time he discovered a butterfly on Mommy.
It's one thing to flash your G if you look like Giselle, or in the privacy of your own home, but to put it out there in Panera, it was just too much. And then, just as fast as the pants when down, Mom stood up and the G-string disappeared deep, deep (probably DEEP from what I saw, or as the song goes "so deep, so deep, it put her ass to sleep...") into her nether-region. I smiled as she left and I watched the threesome walk out the door. Mom was sashaying again. I reevaluated my own undergarmets and felt very confindent that although my panties were most likely peeking out from the back of my OWN pants at that very moment, I'm quite sure that no one saw China and no one saw France. All they saw were my underpants.