Toosh
Veteran Member
Let me tell you about my panties.
Yea, image that as a story title.
My panties are mostly white, usually cotton but absolutely wedgie-proof. No butt-floss for me. The day of the week is screen printed in girly-cursive and small letters, just above the left hip. I like to fold them with precision so the day of the week is visible. I stand them, like soldiers, in a line, from front to back in the drawer - Monday at the front. Each morning, for just one moment, as I reach into my panty drawer, I feel content, seeing that all is right in my world.
Friends; fellow panty wearers: before there was he-and-me there was he and there was me. One day back in the early days, I was putting away his laundry. Pulling open his briefs drawer. <<gasp>> Gents, are you worried about his man-card? Don’t. His bachelor’s briefs were all jumbled up, in a big heap. …but, to the other side of the drawer were his pocket protectors. Yea, my guy is a geek with a capital G …and a capital E. There must have been 30 of them. (and now you know something about his age!) Some were plastic, others vinyl and a few were leather. Many had the day of the week embossed in big, bold, black letters. There they stood. In a line. Front to back. Monday at the front.
“Sweety, why do you have pocket protectors in your briefs drawer?”
Shrugging, “Pocket protectors and briefs do the same thing - - only in different places.“
I stood, gazing upon the organized little soldiers knowing that my heart had found a home in my beau’s briefs drawer.
Fast forward a few years: he and I decide to live together. We identified which drawers of the dresser would be his, which would be mine and which we might share. Briefs and panties don’t take up much space. This was a drawer we would share. So there we were: panties, briefs and pocket protectors, living happily ever after. <<content sigh>>
That was Friday.
Saturday: I stood, post-shower, hair still drippy, wrapped in terry. I pulled open the P-B-P drawer, expecting to be blushed with contentment. … but where the panties stood, Saturday was at the front while at the pocket protectors - Monday was at the front. <panic> My organization failed to consider the seven days of panty protection verses the five-day work week of pocket protection.
I ran (no panties) to the kitchen. I slammed down the newspaper he was reading, sloshing coffee all over him. Before he could get out a, “what the…” I grabbed his hand and drug him to witness what I considered to be The Great Drawer Debacle.
He didn’t see the problem. To his engineer-brain the solution was obvious, “If it really bothers you so much, just get rid of your Saturday and Sunday panties.”
“What!?! Go commando!?!” I would be nekked under my clothes. His solution left me feeling exposed and unprotected! I fumed all day, blaming his insensitivity for my foul mood.
Sunday: After my shower I stood at the dresser. I was by now resolved, making the choice that it wouldn’t affect me. I pulled on the drawer, happy with my decision, knowing that I was in control.
Inside the drawer my eyes spied something new - an open plastic container. It was constructed with great precision. It was the exact width and height of pocket protectors. It was to the front. It was labeled “Saturday and Sunday.” Inside the container was a handful of Hershey’s chocolate kisses.
My man leaned against the door opening. He was so proud of himself. His arms were crossed and his face was smiling. “Every Saturday and Sunday will be full of kisses for you.” <<Eye roll>> All together, everyone say it: “ahhhh!” Ladies, how could I not marry such a man?
If I were to title this story it might be, “Three Lessons from the Drawers Drawer.”
Lesson #1: Respect and protect your partner’s sensitivities. They might be physical or emotional but your partner has pieces and parts they don’t wish to expose.
#2: Accept it - something you perceive to be an earth-shaking problem may be a shrug-event to your other. When that happens be sweet in your solution. Guys, chocolate will guarantee you hero status by the story's end.
#3: Take responsibility for your own happiness. Every morning, when you pull up your panties you have to make a choice to be happy. Only then, can you title the story that is your life.
As maid of honor, I shared this story at my youngest sister's wedding reception.
Yea, image that as a story title.
My panties are mostly white, usually cotton but absolutely wedgie-proof. No butt-floss for me. The day of the week is screen printed in girly-cursive and small letters, just above the left hip. I like to fold them with precision so the day of the week is visible. I stand them, like soldiers, in a line, from front to back in the drawer - Monday at the front. Each morning, for just one moment, as I reach into my panty drawer, I feel content, seeing that all is right in my world.
Friends; fellow panty wearers: before there was he-and-me there was he and there was me. One day back in the early days, I was putting away his laundry. Pulling open his briefs drawer. <<gasp>> Gents, are you worried about his man-card? Don’t. His bachelor’s briefs were all jumbled up, in a big heap. …but, to the other side of the drawer were his pocket protectors. Yea, my guy is a geek with a capital G …and a capital E. There must have been 30 of them. (and now you know something about his age!) Some were plastic, others vinyl and a few were leather. Many had the day of the week embossed in big, bold, black letters. There they stood. In a line. Front to back. Monday at the front.
“Sweety, why do you have pocket protectors in your briefs drawer?”
Shrugging, “Pocket protectors and briefs do the same thing - - only in different places.“
I stood, gazing upon the organized little soldiers knowing that my heart had found a home in my beau’s briefs drawer.
Fast forward a few years: he and I decide to live together. We identified which drawers of the dresser would be his, which would be mine and which we might share. Briefs and panties don’t take up much space. This was a drawer we would share. So there we were: panties, briefs and pocket protectors, living happily ever after. <<content sigh>>
That was Friday.
Saturday: I stood, post-shower, hair still drippy, wrapped in terry. I pulled open the P-B-P drawer, expecting to be blushed with contentment. … but where the panties stood, Saturday was at the front while at the pocket protectors - Monday was at the front. <panic> My organization failed to consider the seven days of panty protection verses the five-day work week of pocket protection.
I ran (no panties) to the kitchen. I slammed down the newspaper he was reading, sloshing coffee all over him. Before he could get out a, “what the…” I grabbed his hand and drug him to witness what I considered to be The Great Drawer Debacle.
He didn’t see the problem. To his engineer-brain the solution was obvious, “If it really bothers you so much, just get rid of your Saturday and Sunday panties.”
“What!?! Go commando!?!” I would be nekked under my clothes. His solution left me feeling exposed and unprotected! I fumed all day, blaming his insensitivity for my foul mood.
Sunday: After my shower I stood at the dresser. I was by now resolved, making the choice that it wouldn’t affect me. I pulled on the drawer, happy with my decision, knowing that I was in control.
Inside the drawer my eyes spied something new - an open plastic container. It was constructed with great precision. It was the exact width and height of pocket protectors. It was to the front. It was labeled “Saturday and Sunday.” Inside the container was a handful of Hershey’s chocolate kisses.
My man leaned against the door opening. He was so proud of himself. His arms were crossed and his face was smiling. “Every Saturday and Sunday will be full of kisses for you.” <<Eye roll>> All together, everyone say it: “ahhhh!” Ladies, how could I not marry such a man?
If I were to title this story it might be, “Three Lessons from the Drawers Drawer.”
Lesson #1: Respect and protect your partner’s sensitivities. They might be physical or emotional but your partner has pieces and parts they don’t wish to expose.
#2: Accept it - something you perceive to be an earth-shaking problem may be a shrug-event to your other. When that happens be sweet in your solution. Guys, chocolate will guarantee you hero status by the story's end.
#3: Take responsibility for your own happiness. Every morning, when you pull up your panties you have to make a choice to be happy. Only then, can you title the story that is your life.
As maid of honor, I shared this story at my youngest sister's wedding reception.
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