I hate thongs. There, I’ve said it. But unfortunately thongs are, on occasion, necessary. Certain garments, lest you want to look like a wrinkly-bottomed Muppet, require panties of a somewhat “cheek-less” nature. Last year I made my first thong purchase under the enthusiastic guidance of a friend who insisted:  “Once you get used to them, you won’t want to wear anything else!”  Much to my chagrin, she was completely wrong. “GET USED TO” being the key phrase here. I never got used to wearing one. I am ALWAYS aware of this “snug” feeling in between my butt cheeks.  Wearing a thong is akin to having a perpetual wedgie. You don’t “get used to” wedgies. You are constantly aware of the discomfort. At work, typing away at my computer, I am thinking: I’ve got something in my ass.  While discussing the state of the union with my politically astute colleagues, I am thinking: I’ve got something in my ass.  While wrestling with this silky jelly fish like creature in the bathroom stall, I am screaming: I’ve got to get this thing out of my ass!

Yes, true, my derrière looks smooth and round beneath my slacks, but is it worth the torture? And why do this of my own accord? Why not go panty free? [ANSWER: Ladies wear panties. Whores go ‘commando’.] True, my thong tolerance has increased slightly over time, but I wonder if I am not doing my bottom a certain bit of harm--friction damage, silk poisoning or something along those lines?

Black thong

I made the mistake of removing the tag from a thong ONE TIME. It will never happen again. As it turns out, this was a mistake that could very nearly have proven fatal. All sides appear equal on a thong—at least on the ones I buy, and especially when you are dressing in the dark. The difference is ever so slight. Well, on one particular morning, I happened to be in a bit of a rush. I went through the usual routine: get out the forceps, pull up the thong, dress quickly and run out the door. My thong was very uncomfortable, but what was new about that? After a particularly grueling day of ass-burning discomfort, I realized—only after the day was more than half over—that my thong was on sideways. I was lucky I didn’t splice in two.

I continue to wear a thong on an as-needed basis, but I certainly haven’t grown to prefer them over regular, old fashioned underpants. The minute I get home from work, or from the party or whatever other godforsaken event requires I bind my ass in such a manner, I rip those suckers off and throw them in the laundry.

Long live underpants!!!