The horror of the Grannie Panties
After a few weeks of being on-line, I finally had a date. This would be my first date in 25 years. His name was Pete. I was a nervous wreck. My 23 year old daughter, Anne, stopped by to help me get dressed. It was a beautiful summer day. I had selected a pair of skinny blue jeans, and a cute top, and sandals. I had my make-up on, and I stepped out of my bathroom to get the final seal of approval. I gave her a dramatic 360 degree turn.
“How do I look?”
Anne exclaims, “Mom, what kind of underwear are you wearing?”
I am confused “The jockey underwear I usually wear.” “Why?”
“OMG, Mom, you have panty lines.”
I am nonplussed “The guy does not care about panty lines.”
“OMG” Anne is immediately calling her younger sister Leigh. “Leigh, we have a situation. Mom is wearing her Grannie panties on a date.”
Leigh “OMG – you can’t let her go looking like that.”
I am still nonplussed “Guys my age don’t care about that.”
Both girls together “YES THEY DO!”
I had a choice, I could go commando or wear the Grannie pants and face the horror show of panty lines. I chose the latter. While, I thought the date went well, Pete did not give me a second chance. The girls were convinced it was all about the Grannie pants. They marched me straight over to Victoria Secret and lined me up with some modern day “no panty line” panties.
I still liked my cotton Jockey’s, and wore them when they were not looking. They finally had an intervention in which they raided my panty drawer and confiscated the jockey’s.
In their defense, I got a second date.