Ever notice that people aren’t what they appear to be? Teachers are dungeon masters, fitness instructors are murderers, and politicians—well, we been knew they are liars and thieves.
Me? Well, teenage me wasn’t what she appeared to be. To my peers, I was a grungy girl who wore unironed, oversized clothing that made them question whether I had a butt or breasts. But underneath. Girl, underneath I was a goddess who was obsessed with sexy underwear.
Yup. My contemporaries teased me for rocking glasses and braces. They said I looked like the female monkey from Planet of the Apes. They even said my toes looked like they smoked joints. So, my teenage plot for revenge was to privately kink up my nonexistent sex life by wearing sexy underwear to school.
As an adult, I can see how this strategy isn’t the best way to cope with the stresses of life. No one wants to be like New York Governor Andrew Cuomo who caused the world to question whether he had nipple piercings all because he showed up to a press conference with a super-thin shirt that exposed his kinky secrets.
I was about sixteen when my friend gifted me some underwear. She’d bought a bra and panty set for herself but the panties were too small. I took it because real friends are down for sharing coochie germs. Also, the panties were super sexy. It was a tiny V-cut with swirly metal clasps at the hip.
Instantly, I was like, yasss, I’m gonna be over here secretly belly dancing from first to seventh period—just sexy time all day long.
When I finally wore them to school, around third period I started to feel unwell. I had a massive headache. After praying to Black Jesus to fix it, I decided to go to the bathroom to do a vital organs check.
I didn’t think I had to pee but I thought maybe a full bladder was secretly the cause of my pain. Maybe it was my period. Either way, I needed to undo some stuff.
As I pulled down my pants, I realized that my underwear was cutting into my hip bone! The hip area was all inflamed and I had deep marks where the metal clasps were.
With my last few operating brain cells, I decided to wad some toilet paper together and create a cushion between my bony hips and the metal clasps.
Back in class, I realized my prayers had not been answered. I was still on the fast track to death.
Next, I decided to inch my underwear down. I thought maybe this area was narrower. Sadly, that didn’t work. Now I had four inflamed areas.
Later, I pulled my V-cut underwear up because my waist was tiny. But now I was just cutting my crotch. A sort of punani wedgie, if you will.
If my vagina rubbed any harder against my underwear, it was gonna catch on fire.
Thankfully, no paramedics were called.
Can you imagine me passing out and the ambulance workers cutting open my clothes in front of my classmates to reveal death by sexy underwear? That’s not how I wanted to go out. I didn’t want to be remembered as the girl who got strangled by she panties.
I wasn’t going to lose my life trying to be sexy for people who wouldn’t even know it.
Shout out to all the paramedics who seent our underwear and don’t judge us.
Award-winning Caribbean comedian, Onicia Muller’s weekly humour column, Just Being Funny is chicken soup for the naive sceptic’s soul. You can hire her to write anything from blogs and newsletters to
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