julienewmar

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Valentine’s Day is quickly upon us and it has me thinking lingerie. Rummaging around in my underwear drawer is a total let-down. I’m starting to wonder how this odd assortment ended up in there. I keep it all wadded in a swirly pile so that I don’t have to admit most of it doesn’t fit. And what’s left over isn’t inspiring. Time to remedy this woeful situation.

A dash to my only options out here on the edge of the world left me deeply disappointed. Evidently, lingerie comes in two kinds. There’s the “Skanky, skivvy, what-the-heck-have-I-got-myself-into-this-isn’t-flattering-in-my-size- ho-liscious” lingerie. And then there’s the “Mother Theresa probably didn’t have sex, but she slept comfortably” (it’s a stretch to call it)  lingerie. Neither is working for me. Lingerie should make you feel good about yourself, it should be comfortable and flattering so that you’re not fidgeting and preoccupied by it— and at the very least, it should be easy to slip out of! It should not, EVER, prompt the question, “What the bleep are you wearing?”

Why can’t I find sexy, soft, luxurious, but comfortable lingerie? I mean, something that’s pretty without being sticky sweet. Something that’s grown-up without being matronly. Something that’s sexy but still covers  my thighs? Something that plays to my assets but doesn’t have me (barely) covered in cheap neon pink acetate wondering if the seams will hold if we do, uh, that.

Because I do want to do that. And I want to look good doing it, and be comfortable while I’m at it. Is this too much to ask?

And it leaves me wondering if Julie Newmar had the right idea.