Hippalicious…
I am an archer. My arms stretch in opposing directions, pulling the nylon. But unlike the Olympic bulls-eye 229 feet away, my target is closer. The nylon/spandex thong in my hands is pulled near-to-tearing so that I may circumnavigate my hips. I’m Magellan!
Boy shorts don’t cause this problem. Boy shorts squoosh everything into their containing fabric. Thongs don’t have enough fabric to do that, hence the stretching. I mean, sure, I could lose 20 lbs so that I didn’t have these hippalicious bits, but the odds of that happening? Pretty small.
It’s just part of the morning routine. You know… You brush your teeth, you scrape all the coaty bits off your tongue, you re-adjust your bra straps annnnnd…. you stretch your thong. Then after you put your bra on, you make sure your nipples are pointing in the same direction and you tuck your back pudge into the bra band.
There was a time when being hippalicious was not an issue… When I was 12 maybe… nope! Not even then. It was when I was 10… ‘Cause the spring when I was 11? I stole money from my parents and went to the Tasty Twirl and had ice cream every day until I was caught and grounded for the entire rest of the summer. My diet of high fructose corn syrup, proved to be my downfall. Basically my criminal activity from age 11 has haunted me for 33 years. Crime does NOT pay.
