I vow

To acquire better foundation garments. I vow to be one of those women who has bra and panty sets that match her outfit. Cute ones that I'm not always tugging on. I have cute ones that I tug on, or hideous ones that make me feel like sad Patty.

Perfect Park Vogel panties. No sad Patty here. 

I was thinking of including a picture of a pair of my dainties, but I'm too ashamed, and I think that would also put this blog into a whole other category of weird inappropriate over-sharing. So I'm just going to post the pics I took of the models in my dream undies. Don't they look happy... A few of my cherished Park Vogel boy shorts (discontinued) have holes in them. Not little holes either. Big holes along where the lace meets the cotton. Some of them have runs in them. I've tried several times since Jack was born to remedy this situation, but nothing is quite right. Its like, and pardon this expression, but it's like my lady business can't be contained. The $4 cotton boy shorts I got from Target ride up. I spend half the day pulling them out of my crack. The expensive ones from Mary Green feel too tight, or the lace is too pokey, or they cut into my cheeks weird,, and give me *gasp* panty lines. Don't talk to me about thongs. I haven't been able to wear one since I was 5 months pregnant. This is a major loss.

Before Jack was born (BJWB) I wore these PERFECT cotton boy shorts from Park Vogel. They are made from this soft slub cotton, in pretty colors, and a little lace edging. I got something like 15 pairs when I was shooting their lookbooks. One of the many perks of being a girl photographer. For a few years I had clean white t's, cute striped cotton panties, stacks and stacks of soft cashmere sweaters. I fooled myself into thinking that was what my wardrobe looked like. Like something out of a magazine. You should see the yellowed pit stains now. I've tried to replace them, to just go into a store and buy myself some basics, but either I have some form of body dismorphic disorder (they all seem too clingy, or boxy, or just wrong), dressing room mirrors are getting worse (I don't remember seeing THAT in my home mirror), or I AM LOSING MY MIND. Gone baby gone.

Why can't they just make me 40 or 50 pairs. That would last me until I die. 

It's almost like I'm a teenage boy. I need some sweet fashion mom to just buy my t-shirts, tanks, and underwear for me. I'm wholly incapable of providing the same service I provide for Nipper and Jack. A few months ago I was in the mens underwear section at a department store. There was another woman there with a toddler. I laughed and said "Do you think a married man has ever been in this aisle?" A few times a year, I get Nipper Knapp a stack of new white pocket t's from Jcrew. I buy him cute boxer shorts whenever a torn pair turns up in the laundry. I seem to have lost the ability to do this for myself.


When packing for a trip recently I couldn't find one white tshirt of my own that wasn't grey, pit stained, and stretched out. Not a single one. What is wrong with me? I need a wife.