Religiously, I wear panties.
I wear panties each and every day. I wear panties for hygienic and sanitary reasons. I wear panties because my voluptuous butt demands comfortableness. And, I wear panties for decorum.
Are you having a TMI (too much information) moment?
Anyway, my obsession with wearing panties began with my paternal grandmother’s incessant and adamant house rule. Or, was it her paranoiac phobia?
Either way, was knee high when I learned both God’s and granny’s Golden Rule simultaneously. Granny admonished us to always ensure that we wore “good” panties so that if she ever had to claim our body at the emergency room or morgue, the condition of our panties would not shame her or the family’s name.
I listened and obeyed!
So, dutifully like an IRS auditor, I am robotically conditioned to routinely examine and inspect the “wear and tear” of my panties when I put them on so, in the event of an accident or my untimely death, granny would be proud knowing that I did not sully the honor, the social status, and the reputation of our dear family!
My “panties” pronouncement would have remained a closeted secret and would have never been publicly broadcasted had I not read my fellow colleague’s impassioned August 28th, 2013 article entitled, “Maybe I Am Just Getting Old.”
Attorney Michael Gibson eloquently spoke on behalf of millions of parents and probably on behalf of millions of “just plain folk” who universally objected to viewing Miley Cyrus’ whorish strip-tease act at the VMAs which she disguised under the auspices of a dance performance, artistic freedom, entertainment, and creative expressions.
Bull!
In either case, revelations about my “panties” and watching Miley’s pornographic bumps, gyrating grinds, sordid licks, salacious twerks, and then with her appearing naked on a wrecking ball the following week was deplorable, uncouth, and aptly belonged in the bowels of indecency and degradation!
Whatever happened to wholesomeness? Whatever happened to self-respect? Whatever the hell happened to Hannah Montana?
Tragic!
Electing to wear or not wear “panties” is not for public consumption. It is a private and personal choice, decision, preference, and matter. Exhibiting sexual movements, seductive antics, and publicly pantomiming sexual grunts, pure and simple, was not lady-like, respectable, nor “good taste” and should have been reserved for her mate’s viewing pleasure and within the confines of their bedroom walls.
No doubt, starry-eyed children and impressionable teens who once adored her fictionalized television character were crest-fallen, disappointed, and confused to have been introduced to the “new and improved” Miley who is now sashaying around as a perverted nymphomaniac—-one with compromised principles, lost core values, and a damaged moral compass!
Amen!
No, Michael. I beg to differ with your assertion that “you are getting old.”
Instead, Miley and her sexually-crazed skanks have pushed the damn decency envelope beyond any of our collective imaginations and beyond the boundaries of how we were taught and raised by our parents and grandparents.
Barring a divine intervention, I predict that your child and mine will be unmercifully taunted, teased, and bullied because they have the gonads to model our teachings, standards, and principled behavior. In our day, that was called home training. Today, the Mileys of the world certainly have grand houses but they don’t possess the “commandments” that we lived by within those fine homes.
Once upon a time, traversed from one staging event to the next in the hopes that my talented 13-year old daughter would soon become “discovered” by some talent agent or movie director. Often imagined the paparazzi chasing Mantha all across the world and that we would be jet setting to exotic places in Milan, New York, or even in Paris.
However, after witnessing how these wholesome kids are virtually pimped, prostituted, and trafficked in exchange for the glitz and glamour of fame, or for a slew of Benjamins, a purple pill, illicit drugs, group sex, or for “whatever,” has dampened my appetite for that type of collateral damage for my darling, sweet girl.
Move over granny. Time to watch those “panties!”
