Life lessons hit us every day, some are greater than othersOne of the conversations I had with Hazel last year when we were practicing for the Triangle Race was a discussion about underwear and what people wear for sailing. We discussed the need for bigger pants compared to day wear.
|hands up all those whose growlers have accidentally eaten their knickers.|
I have long been a careful follower of the NO VPL mantra.
You know that double bum effect brought on by pants that cut across the bum cheek dividing it into a north/south territory. Yes, it is a thing I personally think there is no excuse for. Along with muffin tops and double boobs. (terminology buster: the muffin top is the act of wearing jeans too small and too low causing the belly and hip flab to be pushed upwards and cause the familiar muffin style effect, the double boob is the act of wearing a bra that is the wrong shape or size causing the multiplied appearance of the mammary)
|double bum, cheek division.|
The double bum or VPL is not always caused by pants that are too small, but more usually, pants that need to grip to stay on paired with a squishy derrier. If you wear pants that are the right size to avoid them falling down they still possess bum mutilating capacity.
For this reason and pretty much this reason alone, I have spent the last 20 something years embracing stringier lingerie. I consider myself a near expert on the subject of pant line avoidance.
This brought with it risks of course.
"I will never forget a moment in the early 90's when my grandmother held up a g-string asking me how she was supposed to iron it."
|Bird clutching string|
Avoiding a VPL is not the same as avoiding having an arse that looks like a bag of spanners.
|bag of spanners|
Only a decent workout regime, plenty of cycling, roller blading or other high impact sport that works out your arse muscle (good old gluteus maximus) will keep your cheeks uplifted.
|High impact sport.|
Once the job was complete however, stepping back to deck level I felt a familiar and unwelcome sensation of an underwear malfunction.
"I cursed Asda and their attractively priced thongs for my lingerie lisp."
|Special underwear is required for mast climbing or you'll be stuck like this|
It was just a regular day back in 2005, I entered a cycle race around Brands Hatch when I made the mistake of thinking "it will be alright" when I opted to cycle in a thong.
"Wrong. I was wrong to wear that thong."20 laps later of the Indy circuit my lingerie had carved the mark of sorrow into my coccyx.
I cursed Debenhams, House of Fraser, La Senza and Knickerbox simultaneously.
|I've lost all use of my legs. Girls help me, I've got the mother of all front wedgies.|
It was just a regular day as I walked briskly from work to catch a train. With each purposeful stride there was a sliding scale of realisation, like the same kind you get when you put on a pair of socks with boots and then one sock slowly works its way off of your foot and ends in a bundle around your toes.
Initially, you think, "argh, I've put those rubbish socks on again, I must throw them out."
it then elevates to "well this is annoying"
which then becomes, "should I stop and sort them out or can I walk through this?"
soon followed by "I can't go another step" followed by furtive looking around and rapid rearrangement of misbehaving garment.
Well, rather like the above I had a knicker based conundrum. Which started off merely a little bit annoying and culminated with a full on cunt-me-off front wedgie. A Massive Camel Toe which couldn't be dealt with in public.
In desperation I went to a well known department store, I won't name them, but it rhymes with Lohn Jewis. I had that wistful stare and awkward gait of someone whose nether garment was interrogating them silently. It was a look the kind lady behind the counter must have been familiar with as she struck up a conversation about socks sliding off feet inside boots.
I nodded politely and shuffled off to browse the racks of deceptively evil strips of cloth, then something bright caught my eye.
"Was this another siren, gorgeous to look at and seemingly innocent with a silky finish luring me in, but would inevitably turn around and bite me in the ass."It was a risk I needed to take. It was the kind of first world risk that frankly only a middle class arsehole thinks is a risk. Ironically it's the arsehole I was seeking to cover adequately.
It's a rare thing to find a pant/knicker that can take a woman from street wear, work wear, sports wear and then straight offshore or up a mast without so much as a phwwooooop-we-go!
Australian pants I salute you. I can finally climb the mast, then strut about like a prized hen.
The most awesome undercracker I have yet discovered. How has it taken so long to discover the right combination of gusset and leg hole?
|strutting like a bird on a mission thanks toBonds of Australia |
image courtesy of Mark Kent