Hey Sisqo! Your Thong Song is Stupid.

For the last decade, February has been a difficult month for me.

February ’09 - Valentines Day Weekend: The jerk I am semi dating takes some twit he met online to NYC for a Romantic Getaway – and I find out via pics posted on Facebook.

February ’05 – My Birthday: I decide to do something drastic and cut my curly hair into a short “do-saster”… which my then boyfriend says makes me look like the Campbell Soup kid.

February’ 00 – The Thong Song: R&B Singer Sisqo releases his hit single announcing to the world that my choice in underwear is both uncool and unsexy.

I am happy to report that this February, life has improved:
I have since ditched the idiot of Valentines Past
My hair is the longest and most luxurious it’s ever been…..

But you know what?

Sisqo, it’s been 10 years, and I still beg to differ!

Ever since you first urged me to “Let [you] see my thong!” ten years ago, I have been forced to live in a world where my cotton full backs are considered taboo and frumpy –and I resent this.

I also blame you Sisqo.
I blame you for brainwashing many of my otherwise intelligent and grounded girlfriends into believing that they actually find having a piece of fabric shoved up their booty cracks comfortable.

“Oh my god. I only wear thongs! I wouldn’t dream of anything else, they are so comfortable!” – a quote from a real woman that I know.
Disturbing.

Last week I decided to take my own thong out for a test drive. Ok, it wasn’t exactly on purpose, I was running low on laundry and I actually debated calling in sick to work when I realized that the only 2 pairs of underwear available were a) a thong I bought back in 2000 when I was desperate to fit in b) another thong.

I went with option B because that one actually fit properly, and was on my way to work.

Sure, there were no “underwear lines” to be seen with my dress pants – which is a look I usually can achieve with my bamboo seamless undies – but what there was, was something up my ass. Literally.

As if that was not disturbing enough, as I walked to the printer I realized that even though I was wearing pants, I was actually bare assed. I was very aware of my cheeks being exposed and vulnerable to the elements, and could almost feel my co-workers snicker as I walked by. I felt cheap.

Sitting down was no walk in the park either. As I worked away I became absentmindely aware of the fact that I had a huge wedgie. A huge wedgie that could never be picked and it was only 10am. Panic began to set in.

Sometime around 2pm later that day, I emailed Miss Munch-a-lot informing her that I was wearing a thong and that I was ready to murder someone.

And now here we are.

It is not like I wear French cut full backed briefs that sag at the bum and have a thick elastic waistband.
NO. I like lace; I like bells and whistles, and boy shorts with cute bows, and tarty-see through things that would make any guy blush…. But I like them to do their job and cover my tush with their fabric.
And you know what? I can still make my booty go “dun – dun –dun –dun” and it’s happy to do so. You know why? Because it knows that it’s loved, supported, and covered.



Here is my confession. I like my bum. I actually think it’s one of my better attributes.
I just don’t like the way it looks in a thong – vast, ghost white, hungry, and munching on a strip of lace.

I like to be able to bend over without a trashy T-Bar rising up above my jeans – which I guess means I’m not the lady for you Sisqo.
And I think I’m good with that.


Ps. For all you pervs http://daythong.com/