I’ve said goodbye to my last pair of Victoria’s Secret skivvies. Maybe one day I will say hello to them again, but alas, the idea of comfort supersedes sexy. I used to strut into Vicki’s with bold confidence, until one less-than-pleasant experience left me frowning and a little disgruntled.
It was 7 years ago and I was pregnant with my first child and YES, still wearing my Victoria’s Secret underwear. And why shouldn’t I? I was sexy and pregnant. My butt had not expanded to crazy proportions yet and as I stood in line amid other well-panty dressed women, my ego was deflated by the words of a cute 100-pound youth:
Employee: “Do you have our Angel Card?”
Me: “No, I don’t, I would like to pay with my debit card. Thank you for asking.”
Employee: “Well, you might want to consider it because my sister got really, really big during her pregnancy and she needed to buy all new lingerie after giving birth. You’re gonna need those coupons,” she exclaimed for everyone to hear.
I turned around, hoping I was not going insane, looking for confirmation from my lady companions standing in line behind me that this sweet innocent girl had indeed said what she said! And, sure enough, their mouths hung open in shock.
After that experience, I was turned off. I won’t say anything negative about Victoria’s Secret, because I believe they have really lovely undergarments, but once that bad taste gets in your mouth in a retail relationship, you eyes naturally begin to wander.
I wanted my body to be in union with a company who understood my ever-fluctuating toosh size and my engorged post-pregnant breasts!
And then, Jennifer Love Hewitt emerged onto my television screen.
Oh, sweet mystery of life, at last I had found Hanes!
Her mild disgust with a photo shoot naturally mirrored my own life, as I too, just like Jennifer am frustrated at confining and butt flossing unmentionables.
And then I saw this commercial:
Watching the gorgeous dancers flying about, smiling and loving life, I realized I didn’t want to saunter and strut about a catwalk anymore. I longed to be a sex goddess in my 20’s, but life in my 30’s seems to be different.
I want to spin about, singing songs and secretly loving my hint of back fat.
Sure, the dancers in the Hanes commercial have 6-pack abs, crazy toned thighs, and leap beautifully about like free-spirited gazelles on a wild countryside. And Jennifer Love Hewitt with her perky self, so stunningly attractive it is impossible not to want to hug her…
So, why do I feel more connected to those ladies than I do the wing-bearing, stiletto strutting beauties of Victoria’s Secret?
I’m not a strutter anymore, you see. I long to be a tootler, which means:
“to go or travel in a leisurely way.”
I’m a stroller, a meanderer. And I’d rather leisurely stretch my legs and promenade about in my Hanes underwear, thank you very much. Look who they’ve got their Hanes on now…
Elizabeth Rago is a modern domestic woman, freelance writer, and owner of LOOM Marketing, a boutique ad agency based out of Chicago.
Specializing in health, wellness, and women’s lifestyle content, Elizabeth contributes to Parenting Without A Parachute on ChicagoNow, is Senior Editor of All Things Girl (an Arts and Literary E-zine) and has a home decor column with Chicago Shopping.
A wife and mother of 3, Elizabeth creates along side her artist husband, blissfully content with the topsy-turvy life they have made together. A recovering coffee addict, Elizabeth optimistically faces each day with humor and a hot cup of green tea.
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