When You Stop Caring About Panty Lines
I’ve always wanted to consider myself a “Lady”. To be that woman in the room who stands out as a class act, and people walk away from a party saying, “Wow, that Lydia…how adorable was she?” But, the fact of the matter is I’m the girl people walk away saying, “Did you see her cut the fruit in half with her sword?”
Yes, I love fashion, getting my nails done and design anything I can get my hands on. However, I keep up with the carpentry, not the Kardashians. Growing up I wore pink tutu’s with cowboy boots. I would be kidding myself to say I was full “Lady”. But it wasn’t until recently, at 28 years old, that I came to comfortable terms with that.
It got me thinking, how many women out there pretend to be what they ought to instead of what they actually want to. The pressures of society on woman is nuts, we all know it… but at what point do we say “Screw it!” and live as the person we are.
This all came to a head when I looked into my underwear drawer yesterday. I know life changing stuff. I had the choice; my lacey thongs and my boy short panties. I stood there for a second… just waiting for the “right” decision to come to me. Now tell me, seriously ladies… who would PREFER to wear a thong? I’m serious here. Who wants to discreetly (or in my case indiscreetly) pick their thong out of their crack all day long. ALL DAY. Sure you may have an underwear line. Ok, you may see some color of your undies through your pants. But hey, your butt cheeks are happy cozying up next to one another as opposed to being torn apart a string of death.
Why do I care so much? I’ll tell you; because when I made the choice to wear my boy shorts… I was proud. I mean, gold star to the woman who wear that extra layer of make up every day. A+ to those of you who have your perfectly ironed JCrew shirts and freshly botoxed face (oh, we can tell by the way). You see I was proud because at the age of 28, I have already decided that that is WAY too much work for me. If my man cares about underwear lines now… than buddy, you are going to have a hard time when my boobs fall after breastfeeding. If he wishes I’d wear heels more often, than it’s going to suck for him when my blue varicose veins appear. More importantly, if he really did care about these things, he ultimately wouldn’t be the right person for me.
Not to get all Lena Dunham on you, but it’s not really about him. It’s not about how society says you “Ladies” should be. It’s not really about anyone but you. YOU. Where are you happiest? Is it finger-diving for that thong for the fiftieth time at five o’clock pm? If so, GREAT!
For me, I’ve chosen the road less picked. Bring on the panty lines.
Written by: Lydia Dorsey