Now, About Those Panties

As you may or may not know, weightloss is a running theme in my life these days. I’m still drinking beer, having the occasional treats, and still haven’t cut out pizza, so I’m clearly not all kamikaze about it. I’m living a little smarter, but I’m still living. (Beer, pizza? Come on! Moderation, right?)

I’m down 8 pounds since the start of February, back on track with the weightloss I’d began in October, down 23 pounds overall.

The last month of stairclimbing (on hold as I’m semi-sick right now) has been sculpting a fierce ass and has resulted in crazy-good changes in The Bathtub Test. TBT is when you guage how much volume your body has lost via how much water you’re displacing in your tub. A very easy thing to guage in the world’s smallest 1950s bath tub, like your favourite blogger has (and in mint-green, no less). Lovin’ how I’m creating extra room in my itty-bitty tub.

But all is not bliss in the land of slimmin’-down Steffs.

No, there’s the panty issue. It was easier when I was Just Fat and could buy all my panties from the same plus-size girl store. Now, though, the plus-size girl store’s panties are too big, so I’ve been having to shop around.

And now everyone’s got completely different sizing for underwear. I buy large or extra large, and it’s anywhere from skin-cutting-too-tight to fall-down loose. It’s ridiculous.

I’m all for free enterprise, really, but why can’t we have fucking sizes regulated? Make ’em universal! My ass wants nice-fitting panties that feel cute and form-fitting. Is that so wrong? I have a couple dozens of undies in weird sizes, and I swear to god, like, four of ’em fit perfectly. How hard is it to have uniform sizes? A man can go on the moon, but a chick can’t buy undies from different manufacturers without taking a risk?

Today, I don’t want fame, riches, or glory. I want panties that fit my new bubble butt. Damn it.