February 2008 Column Winner

Thongs, now at Quick Trip

By Barbara Vice, The Drumright Gusher

I never liked wearing thongs.

The darn things have a tendency to crawl up your nether regions, not to mention leave you feeling half-naked under a summer skirt, so I never bothered wearing them, even though they've been the "in" thing for years now.

A little thing called age, though, has a tendency to magnify the effects of another little thing called gravity, particularly when the afore-mentioned age is of the advanced type and involving a specific gender, i.e., the female over 40. The natural result is panty lines.

So, although determined to spend as much time as possible in the gym to correct the dangling derriere, I did also splurge in a spending spree ... Five thongs for twenty-five bucks, the sign said, and in such pretty colors, lace, and ...um ... not much else. Not even panty lines. Perfect!

Okay, so as it goes with skim milk, smelly teenage boys, and hot flashes, I eventually got used to them and finally was able to relax in my jeans knowing the only lines showing on my backside might be the vertical one God gave me.

That's not really the point of this story, though; it's only the background.

Since I moved into the back of one of my workplaces many months ago, I've been sans washing machine, so naturally I take advantage of the one at my other workplace.

One evening while folding a load after hours, I couldn't find my new black cotton thong ... I knew it had been in that load ... "Oh, great," I thought, "someone's going to find it lying in the walkway somewhere in the store. That'll be fun to explain." Oh well, move on.

I gathered up my stuff and went to spend the night at a girlfriend's house. The next morning I got dressed for work and headed to the nearest Quik Trip.

It was the 8 a.m. coffee rush hour and I parked right in front, jumped out of my car and sashayed in, making eyes at all the nice-looking businessmen and blue collars in there as I paid for my French Vanilla cappuccino.

I was sashaying right back out the door when something at my feet caught my eye.
Sorta looked at first glance like a do-rag that maybe some brotha or biker had lost.

Right there at the threshold of the front door to Quik Trip.





Walk to the car, girl. Just walk straight to the car. Maybe no one saw that minuscule pause or the sudden look of shocked surprise on your face. Please, dear Lord, maybe no one saw the darn thing fall out of your pants leg just five minutes earlier when you walked inside.

I knew for sure it was mine, I recognized the label.

I got in my car, totally nonchalant of course... I'm cool, I'm good ... as if nothing whatsoever was out of place.

As if my unmentionables weren't lying right there in the smack-dab middle of the entrance to a very busy Quik Trip in Tulsa, Oklahoma during the morning coffee rush.

Just the night ibefore when doing laundry, and again when I had dressed earlier that morning, I shook out those clothes so carefully, looking for that thong, yet it never fell out then. Oh no, that would have been too easy.

Bounce owes me a refund.

So after a brief private moment of embarrassed blushing at the very thought of my dainties on display, my feminine sensibility quickly gave way to my more practical side as I thought, with equal if not greater dismay, "That darn thing cost me $5!"

Talk about a dilemma.

I sat there a good five minutes, embarrassment battling my inner tightwad, debating...Let it go and lose my $5 investment?

Or walk back through the door, casually swoop down in one fluid motion as if it's perfectly natural to pick up a tiny black undergarment from the threshold and stick it in my pocket... and hope no one noticed?

As I sat there at war with myself over what to do, I saw at least 20 people come in and out of that store... each one pausing, glancing down, picking up their feet as something dark and crumpled caught their eye on their way through the door ...

Oh, no, no, no. I'm letting this one go.

After all, twenty-five buck for four thongs isn’t such a bad deal.