Creeping Underwear

We have practically erased bad breath, eliminated dandruff, and done away with psoriasis but we have been unable to conquer one of society’s most dreaded diseases; Creeping Underwear.

Everyone talks about Creeping Underwear, but no one wants to do anything about it.  Research departments have put men on the moon yet our world is still plagued with underwear that crawls into dark places, slips off one cheek and continues upward.  I’m trying to get a patent just on an underwear warning label;  WARNING. WEAR THIS SMALL PIECE OF FABRIC AT YOUR OWN RISK.



Creeping Underwear changes a person.  It sneaks up on you when you least expect it and hits you like a ton of bricks.  BAM, you become someone else.

Last night I went to a concert with my man.  When I left the house, I was a fully confident, well-adjusted, stable human being.

And then an hour into our night, I became a totally different person.  My slip had travelled north of my waistline forming a nice little floatation device adding about 10 pounds to my frame.

My Spanx on the other hand, in a series of slow manoeuvres, had reached several unexpected places throughout the evening.  First, they slide down to cause my backside to look like I had two pigs fighting under my dress.  Next, they made their way below my buttocks to make what I would call, “The-perfect-Kim-Kardashian-Rear”.  Not going to lie, while here I found some new confidence.  I’ve seen thousands of pictures of her that would let me know that this look draws attention and money, but it was short-lived and let’s face it, I am a middle age woman in Texas.  The next move I made had my ankles bound and my eyes looking for help from my man.

I tried to adjust these garments quickly and in a way to not call a lot of attention, but every time I bent over to try to grab a handful of my ‘unders’, my bra straps would slip and bind my arms like a straight jacket.

My man was the first to notice the change in my personality.  “What are you doing under the table?” he asked.  “Do you need to go to the bathroom? Are you okay?”

“I’m suffering from Creeping Underwear,” I whispered.

“You’re what? Do you have medicine for that in your purse?”  he said with concern.

He didn’t understand.  Men rarely do.  It took him 18 minutes to get ready for our night out and that included shaving.  He didn’t have to squeeze in anything, bind anything up or jump feet first off of the bed into a size 18-month pair of biker shorts.

National studies show that 98.2 percent of people that suffer from Creeping Underwear are women.  As I made my way into the bathroom, I noticed another lady about my age suffering from the same ill fate.

“Are you okay? Can I help in any way?” I asked.

“I went to cross my legs and was nearly strangled to death my off-brand supporter,” she said.

“Do you think there will ever be a cure?” I said.

“I hope so,” she said.  “I’m starting to lose consciousness.”

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