That Thursday - Why yes, I am THAT girl.

I am a lot of things that other women aren't. Hell, I'm a lot of things that other people of any gender, creed or color aren't. I like to think that's what makes me extra awesome. If you reread that sentence, you'll notice that I did NOT say that these little nuggets of extra awesome are always the best ideas or the most coveted of traits to possess. Case in point...

MacGyver was right - tape is AMAZING!

Ever have a favorite pair of underwear? But after having paid faithful homage to it for far too long the elastic just can't take the stress of hugging your ass anymore and it says "I quit"? Yep. I've got a pair of those. It's one of two blue panties of the same style and for the life of me I can never remember which of the two is the offending pair. (Why in the world do I keep wanting to call it a pair of panties? Is that a thing or am I going insane? If it's a thing, is it because there are a "pair" of leg holes? Please make it stop!) As of today I will no longer forget which blue panties are the ones that refuse to cinch around my hips.

Why?

Because I'm currently wearing them. I wore them at work all day today. And I wore them all day at work one day last week. (*NOTE: Just to clarify, the panties in question have indeed been washed between then and now. I did not, in bachelor fashion, turn them inside out and go another round. Carry on.)

I work in the operating room. Most of the day I'm bundled up in sterile attire and tending to the guts and glory and the inner workings of the human body. As you may have guessed, you can't scratch your nose or pull up your britches in such a state.

Not even if the britches in question - and yes, I said britches (why yes, I am a little bit country or possibly 95, thanks for noticing!) - are descending to a very gangstuh-esque position just above your kneecaps. Just to really give you a good idea, I'm obviously wearing scrub pants, which have a crotch in them (thank God!) so while the crotchal region is still more or less covered, everything else has gone south. So (in my best Rod Serling) picture if you will, the crotch of the panties as the narrow uppermost portion of a bell, and the sagging waistband as the large mouth opening at the bottom. (Please reference the photo below for a good depiction of three things: 1) a visual of the bell curve underwear, 2) a little assistance in bringing up those last few cookies/cheeseburgers/beers you regret ingesting and 3) inspiration for why I WILL get my ass back to running VERY SOON)

 

 

That's what I was dealing with during the case last week. The anticipatory and painfully slow descent of my disloyal undergarment, until they reached the "panties at half mast" position, and with a solid half hour left in the case. Today, luckily, I was in a much better state. While once again clad in the sad, stretchless wonders, I wasn't in cases near as lengthy, and my gluteal hypothermia was kept at bay. But today I was struck with a genius thought.

     Smee: I've just had an apostrophe!
     Hook: I think you mean "epiphany".
     Smee: Lightning has just struck my brain.
     Hook: Oh, that must hurt.

I grabbed a handy roll and two little strips of tape later - voila! No more embare-ass-ing wardrobe malfunction. Did I remember that I had taped my underwear to my ass when I went to the bathroom later on? Of course... not. Until the tape ripped the first totally unnecessary layer of epithelials off my cheeks. Did I remember it the second time I went to the bathroom today? Sure I did...n't. But man, that third time? That was the charm!

So yes... I am indeed THAT girl. The one who tapes her underwear to her ass so it doesn't fall down. Here's hoping I can be the girl who remembers to toss these ridiculous proper-panty imposters into the trash when she takes them off.

Until next time, this is That Girl, signing off...

~h