Fancy Christmas Undies, Day 53, “The Me Project”

I bought some fancy lingerie because Rihanna has a lingerie company now and she told me we’re all beautiful, so I had to check. Also- nearly forty isn’t too old for peer pressure and I have friends who are trying to sex up their sex lives with sexy undies and some boudoir pictures for their mates, so I feel like I have to at least ATTEMPT to keep up.

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This is not the undies I bought, clearly. This is a beautiful scarf my aunt made me. I generally prefer to put MORE clothes on. Can we make comfy, warm clothes the new sexy? Is there a petition I can sign or

So I bought them. They arrived in very pretty pink paper, and they look like really good quality. Not quite six-pack of Hanes-My-Way good quality, but pretty good for lace. I washed them (OMG they have to be handwashed!! FUCKING RIHANNA, YOU BETRAYED ME!) and dried them, and shaved all my parts, because, like, lace is see-through, I guess? Then later that night, magic hour fell (kids were asleep and we weren’t) and….I don’t know, we just sort of forgot to have sex? Maybe we got into conversation about kids or business, or one of us had to run to the store, or it wasn’t a good GI day for me, or we fell asleep in front of a movie. I don’t even remember, but the moment passed.

Days passed. Hair grew. Undies were forgotten.

Eventually we were together in the room where the underwear lay neglected like a pile of mini grandmother shawls. Robb was folding laundry on the couch, so I tossed him the fancy pantsies and said, “Here, I got you something for Christmas….to be clear, they’re for me to wear.” His eyes lit up and I said, “But, you know, they require some preparation to wear. So, we’ll do that whole thing when there’s time.”

He folded them and put them in my drawer. That was a week ago. There they sit, probably judging all my normal, comfy undies and holey socks.

How do any women do this when there’s, like, life to tend to? I feel like in order to deserve to play sexy, I have to have full makeup, hair and nails done, and deploy intense depilatory efforts. Ain’t nobody got time for all that. (Let’s review- for his part, he has to show up and, I guess, open his eyes?)

So let’s say the stars align, and I do finally squeeze my perfectly coiffed self into the lovely lace and I’m like, “Hey! Look at me! It’s me, but way better,” then isn’t it like unwrapping a present that you know you’re getting? Why bother with the fancy paper and bows? Lingerie is supposed to add spice or mystery or something to your sex life? But, like, you know the ending! That’s a terrible plot. So many holes. ;) (giggity)

Maybe the point is that it shows love and interest in sex that I’m willing to put in all this totally lopsided effort for him. Maybe that’s the gift; the hassle? The performance? Well, at this rate, it won’t be a Christmas present, it’ll be a ….what’s the next holiday? New Years? No, too soon. I’ll be all bloated from Christmas food. MLK day? That seems weird and disrespectful. Valentine’s- no lame. Ok. Washington’s birthday. February 17th. It’s a date. Get ready, babe, it’s going to be epic.

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Find me on Ravishly, The Belladonna Comedy, Pregnant Chicken, & more. Being a human is hard- maybe the kids can help. bigtroubleblog.com, Twitter: @sarahzimzam

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