Most women have at least one embarrassing underwear story to tell (or at least, we all have a friend who knows someone who has an embarrassing underwear story – right?).
Not sure if you have? Just cast your mind back to those heady high school years when romantic progress was measured in ‘bases’ and the sweetly frustrating fumbles of first love often involved the complicated intricacies of bra fasteners… Boys never did understand why sometimes they undid at the front, and sometimes at the back, so they rarely got it right first time; many a frisky mood has been killed by these momentum-halting mechanics, and dads everywhere still don’t know how grateful they should be to bra manufacturers!
Conversations with women are my absolute pastime, and the subject of underwear overshare has been the cause of so much laughter and hilarity since I decided to put together this compilation in celebration of National Underwear Day (with the fact that we live in a country that has a National Underwear Day causing a lot of those laughs) and this blog is the result.
Some of the stories are ‘straight from the horse’s mouth’, some are from that friend of a friend of a friend – but all are apparently true. And if you have heard a few of them before, perhaps your circle of girlfriends is even wider than you think!
ATTACK OF THE KILLER UNDERWEAR
I got this story second or even third-hand, but it really is so relatable, I had to include it: our heroine, who we will call Chrissie, was getting ready for a wedding in her hotel room. She had found the perfect LBD for the occasion (and yes, you can wear black to a wedding today) in soft, lustrous jersey silk, exquisitely cut on the bias so it draped beautifully. The only issue was, Chrissie had developed a bit of middle-aged spread over the years, and her derriere was no longer as pert as it had been in her youth; however, this was nothing a well-chosen piece of shapewear couldn’t disguise: on the saleslady’s advice, she had purchased a high-topped, seam-free, cinch-waisted pair of mid-thigh length shorts made of seriously strong, stretchy stuff that was guaranteed to keep her wobbly bits in a stranglehold from just below her bra to just above her knees, to recreate the slim-waisted, flat-stomached, high-bottomed silhouette of her pre-motherhood, pre-menopause days.
Getting into it was the tricky bit; luckily the saleslady had told her that talcum powder would make it easier to pull on (remember Ross Geller and the leather pants?). So, Chrissie powdered, puffed and pulled until she was eventually encased; feeling (and sadly, looking) a bit like an over-stuffed sausage, she grabbed her dress, slipped it on and… she looked gorgeous! The inches had melted away, her waist slid gracefully into curvaceous hips draped in glorious scarlet, she looked better than she had in years – the bride had better watch out, Chrissie may just steal the show!
After one last graceful twirl in the mirror, she made her way downstairs to the hotel ballroom where the wedding was being held, found the seat friends were holding for her and sat down, modestly brushing off their compliments at her appearance. It was at this point that things started falling apart – literally!
When Chrissie sat down, the laws of physics came into play and all the bits she had squashed in so well when she was standing upright started rebelling against their confinement and horrifyingly, executing a rather successful breakout; she could feel the high waist rolling down and releasing her spreading body from its stretchy prison. Simultaneously, her thighs burst forth on the set of the chair, and no amount of surreptitious pulling and pushing could hide what was happening from her neighbors. And of course, that was when the bride came in with her father; ironically, Chrissie’s frantic twitching, twisting and tugging nearly did steal the show – though not in the way she had imagined earlier!
As soon as the ceremony was over, Chrissie shot up to her room, dragged the offending piece of shapewear off her poor, protesting body, replaced it with a pair of her regular firm hold underwear, replenished her vibrant scarlet lipstick and went back down to the reception with her head held high; her gorgeous dress still swirled beautifully over her slightly more voluptuous hips when she danced, and her rounded tummy nestled comfortably beneath the forgiving tablecloth. And when the groom’s widowed father walked her up to her room at the end of the evening and asked for her number, she realized she was in pretty good shape, just by being herself. Lesson learnt: be comfortable in your own body, and others will be comfortable with it too!
CANDY CRUSH SAGA
This one is probably the gem of my collection, as it is actually so bizarre no-one could make it up – and my source swears the woman it happened to works with her, and even told her what she was planning beforehand.
The woman’s name is Candy; Candy met a guy called Mark at a new year’s party a few years ago, and they really hit it off, fireworks and all (not just the new year’s kind either, I heard). Suffice to say, these two had a very strong physical connection, and grew very close very quickly, if you catch my drift, to the point that Mark actually proposed on Valentine’s Day (with a temporary candy ‘diamond’ ring) not even 2 months after they met – and Candy happily accepted.
Even though they were both in their early 40s, and Mark had been married before, he had done the traditional thing and asked Candy’s Dad for her hand in marriage, having met them quite early on in the relationship. Now, it was Candy’s turn to meet her future in-laws.
On Valentine’s Day, along with the candy ring, Mark also gave his betrothed a naughty G-string, made with rows of candy ‘beads’. He replaced the candy ring with the real thing the very next day (sensible man wanted to make sure his investment was ‘safe’ before he forked out) – but they decided to put the candy thong away for another special occasion. Which Candy decided, unbeknownst to Mark, would be the day they went round to his parents, so she could tease Mark with it when no-one was looking.
A tall, olive-skinned brunette with strong, high cheekbones, courtesy of her Native American heritage, in a pink pencil skirt, white top and pale pin-striped blazer, Candy looked cool and elegant, and Mark just knew she would be a hit with his family. He was right, they loved her – and both the conversation and the wine flowed easily as they all sat comfortably on the deck with Mark’s sister and her husband, also there to inspect the bride-to-be.
Things were really going well, and when Mark’s Mom went to get dessert from the kitchen, Candy leapt up to help her – and accidentally knocked her hip on the edge of the table… So, remember I said Candy had thought this would be a good time to wear her candy thong? It was not: as she rubbed her hip ruefully she heard a tiny PING! and next second, a shower of brightly beads scattered out from under her dress, down her bare brown legs and round her feet, where they rattled and scatter on the deck, much to the joy of the parents’ two little sausage dogs who pounced on them, barking and munching gleefully! After a moment’s shocked silence, chaos ensued: dogs were shooed frantically, the Mom and sister dived to pick them up, bewildered to realise they were made of candy. And most importantly, wondering why they had appeared from the nether regions of this prospective family member! The men, including Mark, remained rooted to their chairs. The dad and the brother-in-law looked at Candy (in admiration, I suspect), Mark looked anywhere else except at Candy.
After much stuttering and blushing, the truth came out, and the ice was really broken; everyone was in hysterics, and Candy was totally welcomed into the family – which is a good thing, as she and Mark are happily married; apparently the story still gets told whenever there are new guests on the deck. Admit it – of all the underwear stories around, this has got to be the sweetest!
MAKING A THONG AND DANTH
Once upon a time… A Mom was having a really bad day: she had a toddler underfoot, her boisterous 6-year old twins were refusing to play nicely with their on-line schoolteacher, her handyman brother was battling to install a new washing machine, she hadn’t showered yet and it was already well past noon – an all-round great time for hubby to phone and remind her he was bringing the IT guy from work home to set up his new surround sound system, and were there any beers in the fridge in the den? No, there were not. Even though she repeatedly told him that if he wanted beer for him and his mates, he could buy them himself, she bought the food and the clothes. And the wine of course, but that’s different: Mommy needs wine, Daddy just wants beer. (Sometimes, she felt like she was living Debra’s life in ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’!)
Still, she had to get a few other things from the store (like lunch for the kids) , so our Mom agreed to help him out this time; she wiped the kids’ grubby faces with wet wipes (still no water) and popped upstairs to put on something a bit less ‘People of Walmart’ than husband’s tired and weirdly revealing holey college T-shirt and her yoga pants.
A bra, clean underwear, yesterday’s cute gypsy top and slightly crumpled cargo shorts would do nicely; time to get the kids in the car and beat the the lunchtime shoppers’ queues at the store.
With everything going to plan, and her shopping list sorted, she headed for the checkout just as the store started to fill, toddler in trolley, twins trailing snickering loudly behind her; when she turned to look, they were crouched down, staring at something and attracting quite a crowd (people love to rubberneck, just gaze fixedly in one direction, and see how many join you). “Mommy look, dropped their on the floor,” bellowed her daughter loudly. “Shh, leave them alone, come over here – drop them NOW!” Mom entreated in vain, as her girl child waved them triumphantly, like a dirty, flirty flag. “Mommy, I fink vey are , it Property of Brad, name!”
The assembled onlookers were even more entranced now, as the blood-red blush that suffused our Mom’s face proved that her lisping prodigy’s sleuthing skills were spot-on (gifted children can be a curse); she recalled pulling panties and cargoes off in one tired movement late the night before, and realized that the offending garment had worked its way down her pants leg and crash-landed in front of her offspring and their new friends. As she cursed the old washing machine that died 3 days ago, forcing her to dig deeper into her underwear drawer, she marched menacingly up to the flag waving whistle blower, and in that Mom voice, ordered her to “DROP. THEM. NOW.”
The kid dropped them. Mom then tried to kick the offending scrap of cloth up in the air, planning to catch them in her hand, stuff them in her pocket and scuttle off. Instead, she kicked her foot through the leg of the thong, shook her leg wildly to get them off, and ended up having to bend down and hop on one foot to remove them, much to the amusement of her appreciative audience. Totally stressed as a result of her frenetic little dance, she threw the panties in the trolley, much to the joy of her wide-eyed toddler, who could now get in on the action, grabbed a twin, told the other to hold its sibling’s hand and charged down the length of the store to the furthest checkout point.
I would guess that now, our Mom either shops mid-morning or late afternoon – and never round lunchtime! I have definitely heard different variations of this story before, but this one has got to be my top telling of it - hope you agree
A BIT OF BAD TUCK
This is one of my own stories, in that I was there when it happened: many eons ago when I was in advertising, my plus one at an awards evening was my lovely, mad Irish friend Hilda, who was the traffic manager at my agency (she literally directed jobs as they ‘traveled’ through the various department, from inception to completion).
Hilda was tall and gorgeous with long curly red hair, and she attracted attention wherever she went – especially that night: in her fabulously flowing silky dark gold bustier dress, she looked like a burlesque queen.
It was a great evening, our agency won quite a few awards, and Hilda and I were in high spirits when we went to the restroom together (as women have done since restrooms were in caves). As the restrooms were right at the back of the banquet hall, and our table was right at the front, there was much chatting, congratulating and air-kissing to be done both on the way there. To continue our social whirling, we took a different route on the way back – but this time, it wasn’t just Hilda’s spectacular looks that were being admired: we had been so busy touching up our lipstick and gossiping the whole time, neither of us had noticed that Hilda had accidentally tucked the back of her skirt into her thong, revealing her bum in all its glory!
I was in front so I saw nothing, but when H got back to table, a female colleague leant over to help her by releasing the skirt from the thong. Unfortunately, she didn’t explain this before she did it, so when Hilda felt hands on her bum, she swung round and slapped out at her rescuer, who flapped out of the way and knocked a glass of wine off the table into her own lap, causing her to leap up from her set with a squeal – honestly, I was expecting calls of “Girl fight!” to break out round the hall, and security being called to remove the unruly creatives of X&Y from the room!
It was all sorted out quite quickly, but the next time I asked Hilda to accompany me to the restroom, she declined. Quite grumpily, I thought. I also noticed that we were among the last to leave the hall; it was almost as if she was trying to avoid attracting any more attention. Hmmm.
THE WALK OF SHAME
You may not believe it, but this next story also happened to Hilda! It was back in the 80s, when gym had literally started to get fashionable, with legwarmers, headbands and everything (think Jane Fonda’s iconic workout video – if you’re old enough!) Hilda and her workout buddy (not me, I never got the gym bug; my thighs still hate me for it) were yak-yak-yakking as they changed into their outfits du jour. H had chosen an oh-so-trendy pastel pink and green jungle-print crop top and teeny hi-cut shorts combo over sheer pink ballet tights, complete with matching head and ankle accessories, even pink trainers.
Still chatting away, they left the locker room and headed down the glass-walled walkway adjacent to the exercise room, in full view of all the lunchtime gym bunnies. Who slowly stopped stepping, running, lifting or And simply stared in silence; you see, my darling friend had been so deep in conversation, she had actually forgotten to put her shorts on over her sheer tights – and she wasn’t wearing any panties underneath, as they would have spoilt the line of her stylish ensemble!
At she was quite pleased at the impression she had clearly made on the room. Then she saw her reflection in the mirrored wall opposite, froze for a moment, then turned round slowly and made her way back towards the changeroom, slowly and casually, as if this in fact exactly what she had planned to wear all along – but she had forgotten to, erm, lock her locker. Tracey tripped along beside her, apologizing profusely for not saying anything – but that she had genuinely thought it was a deliberate omission, as Hilda was known for her fashion sense!
Hilda stayed in the change room till the lunchtime workout crowd left – but was back there just a few days later, in a fabulous black and white leotard and leggings; this wonderful, wild Irish woman had courage and style second to none, and nothing could keep her down. She has been gone a while, but she will always be in my heart, and she always make me laugh.
Well, I hope you enjoy these embarrassing stories as much as I enjoyed finding them for you; as I said, there is nothing like spending time with your girlfriends, spilling secrets and sharing the good, the bad and the ugly in your life –like getting your panties in a twist just for fun!