By Viv Sade
For Buscovoice.com
I was talking to a group of friends the other day, and an amazing thing came to light.
I have friends.
No, wait, that wasn’t it.
Oh yeah.
We’re getting old.
This great revelation came on the heels of a conversation where one of my friends — we’ll call her Cheryl ’cause that’s her name — was commenting that her daughter’s friends did not care for a particular high school teacher.
One of the reasons the teens did not care for this high school teacher, Cheryl explained, was that she dressed like a slob (i.e.: too much like the kids) and wore tight, hip-hugger jeans and thongs.
Another friend — we’ll call her Peggy ’cause that’s her name — shrugged and said, “Well, I suppose it is a bit cold for thongs, but the worst part is that ‘flip-flapping’ sound they make when you walk. It’s so annoying.”
I nodded my head in agreement.
Cheryl shook her head vehemently.
“No, no, no! Not flip-flop footwear … THONG underwear,” she said. “You know, the stringy-thingies. Butt floss.”
“Oh,” Peggy said politely.
“Oh,” I said politely.
Then we both caught on, “Ooohhh!”
The kids’ main beef was that this young thong, er … thing, bends over in front of the classroom, which “grosses them out” because they get a clear view of her thong underwear and she’s old, for heaven’s sake — almost 25!
Unless you’re Conehead Beldar from the planet of Remulak and have no derriére to speak of, it should be illegal to bend over and show backside cleavage if you are older than say, three.
Peggy and I are not Coneheads.
The jury is still out on Cheryl.
Our middle-age-enhanced-sliding-with-gravity backsides explain our lack of understanding when it comes to non-flip-flop thongs.
Cheryl offered the simplest logic of all: “After a lifetime of fighting a perpetual wedgie, the thought of buying underwear that is meant to disappear just doesn’t make sense.”
“What if I had to have an emergency thongectomy?” she pondered. “Would my insurance cover that? Would it be considered cosmetic even though it would be a necessary medical extraction procedure?”
That’s the great thong, er … thing, about growing old. We old people operate more on common sense and much less on emotions. We don’t consider strings that go up the er, … abyss … and pass for underwear to be indecent or immoral. We just consider them uncomfortable, impractical and a waste of money.
Are you crazy — $21.99 for two strings and a postage-stamp piece of polyester?!
Another friend — a plus-size woman in her late-40s — later confided to us that she owns several thongs is assorted styles and colors. We’ll call her Mary ’cause that’s not her name.
“My husband loves every inch of me,” she bragged. “And he really likes it when I wear a thong and nothing else.”
(Warning! Warning! Visual images may be difficult or downright impossible to eradicate from brain cells.)
“It really spices up our love life,” Mary whispered with a sly smile. Especially when he starts singing, ‘Wild thong, er … thing, you make my heart sing, you make everything groooovy …”
We stared at her, open-mouthed.
So there your go. Thongs were never intended to be taken seriously as functional underwear.
They are strictly ornamental and totally useless — like those fuzzy dice on the rear-view mirror of a low rider or the purse that the Queen of England carries.
And, as the late, great philosopher Aristotle once said, “A woman in a thong — and only a thong — pulls at my heart strings.”
Or, maybe that was someone on the Jerry Springer Show.
Or someone who worked in the White House when the U.S. government was almost undone by a thong gone wrong.
Then again, maybe it was Mary’s husband.
