That's Me

That's Me

Sunday, April 3, 2016


You know how it happens and you know it happens with anything. Whether it's a thong that shifted just wrong, granny panties, cute little boy short undies, shorts, the seam of jeans, sweat pants, or what have you, they'll all get to you. You're lying in bed or on the couch and start to feel that need to stretch and roll over to your side. Your britches decide that they'd prefer to bunch up onto one of your cheeks rather than just roll smoothly with the rest of your body. By the time you're done rolling over, that piece of fabric that bunched up wrong has now settled down to rest in the crack of your heinie.

It's like those britches are taunting you every time you want to roll over--are you going to actually roll onto your side completely comfortable this time? How badly do you not want to have a piece of fabric slide into an uncomfortable position, in a place it doesn't belong? Is it worth rolling over to risk the dreaded feeling of the wedgie?

You roll over, after hoping against all hope that this time you don't end up with a wedgie, and need to figure out how to fix The Bunching of the Britches. That piece of fabric right there is like continuously hearing fingernails on a chalkboard. Only I'm hearing it with my butt's ears. It's torture. It makes me want to claw my own skin right off of my skeleton.

When I was dating I'd rather live with that torture than let the guy know I needed to pick something out from between my cheeks. I mean, how hot is it to see a grown woman lean to the side and pick a wedgie out while you're on a date? It's not.

So as I'm sitting there, living with The Bunching of the Britches, I'd get too distracted from the movie. I would have to fake laugh at parts that he was laughing at or fake gasp when it was apparently shocking or scary. Because I was only thinking, "I could pretend I have to go to the bathroom right now, but then will he see it when I stand up and walk away? How deep is this thing? Is it like, half the butt of my pants tucked in there? Would he be totally grossed out and think there is something wrong with me, thinking that I didn't notice such a huge amount of material stuck in my butt?" 

What my grundie feels like. 

Trying to wiggle a wedgie out is futile. It only migrates further or clings on stronger. Then you have a bigger problem to deal with. Then there's the issue of wiggling your butt in front of or next to someone else. Are they thinking, "Does she have worms? Is she scratching her butt like a dog on carpet? Or does she think that's sexy? Should I pretend I think it's sexy too?"

Or do they not notice at all because they are actually paying attention to the movie? Wait a minute...I'm over here dying from not being able to relieve myself of this torture. How are they so oblivious to my suffering?! Do I want to be with someone who doesn't care about how I feel? But I don't want him to know I'm suffering, that's why I'm nonchalantly smiling at him when he looks at me...but what if I did want him to know and he didn't notice? 

All these thoughts running through my head. Stressing me out, going to depths I don't want it to go--both the thoughts and the wedgie. The struggle is real. Especially when you're single or newly married.

After 5 1/2 years of marriage, though, I no longer struggle with this. Yay for marriage ending my battle with The Bunching of the Britches. Not that it doesn't happen anymore. Marriage isn't that magical. 

Watching TV in bed the other night, I rolled onto my side. Of course my britches snuck into their unfriendly position. Hubby started to rub my back while still watching TV, completely unaware as to what had really just occurred right next to him.

Rather than have to shift around and around until I was comfortable again, I asked him one question, "Can you get my grundie for me?"  

Marriage means pulling out your spouse's wedgie.

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