Thongs are a fancy fanny fad. Minerva and I don’t mind panty lines and bulges. It’s a rite of passage. We want our underpants to be comfortable not fashionable. Our booties are quite happy in cotton. We don’t buy lace, mesh, or chiffon. The bare necessities are not for wrinkly and crinkly bums. Low-rise or high-rise undies cramp our style. We want our underpants to stay in place when we bend over.
Our female ancestors donned pantaloons and bloomers. No riding up in between the cheeks. Ah! The olden and golden days of underpants.
On the other hand, maybe I’ll create a start-up company that sells granny thongs. I’ll do marketing mania to condo retirement villages in Florida. Marketing 101 says that you are not selling the product (granny throngs), but what the product (granny throngs) can do for customers. Hmmm. I’ll have to think a while on that strategy.
Until we chat again, this old bag declares, “Aging is for cheese and wine—not women.”
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