From Hot to Hell No: The Rise and Fall of My Panty Confidence.

Real Girl Talk: When the Thong Snapped Back.

Let’s get one thing straight: I didn’t mean to break up with thongs. There was no teary farewell, no dramatic goodbye text. Just one day, after years of blind loyalty, I realized I’d been betrayed by a one-inch strip of fabric that used to make me feel powerful.

Back in my 20s and 30s, I wore thongs as if they were a public service. Not because I loved them (hell no), but because VPLs (visible panty lines, for the blissfully unaware) were apparently the eighth deadly sin. God forbid someone knew I was wearing underwear. The horror.

So yeah, I wore them. Because:

• They were cute.

• My Aussie man loved them.

• They made me feel hot and wanted, more fantasy than forgotten wife.

But somewhere along the way, the fantasy expired.

---

The Day the Thong Died

It happened on a random Tuesday. (It’s always the random ones, isn’t it?) I was cleaning out that drawer. You know the one, tangled bras, lone socks, and underwear that hadn’t seen daylight since TikTok was just the sound a clock made.

I thought: Let’s give these thongs one last shot.

Big. Mistake.

I slipped one on, took 10 steps, and immediately felt like Satan’s shoelace was trying to saw me in half.

It rubbed, it burned, and I swear I checked for injuries because I was positive an ER visit was imminent. By the time I hit the kitchen, I was in full-blown crisis mode. I ripped it off like it was on fire, stormed back to the bedroom half-naked, and tossed every last pair in the trash as though they’d personally betrayed me.

End scene. No regrets.

---

Spillage, Slippage, and the Rise of the Brief

Let’s talk about the real betrayal: the slow, silent evolution of our bodies that no one warned us about.

Spillage? Oh, it’s real. Underwear claims to “hold it all in,” but it somehow lets your bits sneak out on a covert mission.

And slippage? Yes, when your panties just surrender mid-walk and slide down your hips like they’re quitting their job.

What in the actual fuck?

At some point, though, my underwear graduated from skimpy to seriously supportive, sneaking higher by the year until it started flirting with my belly button. And after polling a handful of Real Girls in their mid-50s and beyond? Let’s just say, more than a few are already embracing the full “up-to-the-boobs” situation, or feel in their bones that day is coming in hot.

For me, though, I say: Not yet, Satan. Not yet.

---

Confidence, Redefined

Thongs once had their place. They were my post-divorce glow-up. My “I still got it” power move.

But now?

Sexy doesn’t come in a string.

Sexy is comfort.

Sexy is softness.

Sexy is not having to dislodge polyester from your ass crack while buying bananas.

---

My Current Lineup?

These days, I’m redefining sexy in a whole new, and far more comfortable, way:

• Seamless, full-ass briefs that hug, hold, and stay put

• Boy shorts that say, “I’ve got opinions and Advil in my purse”

• Maybe the rare commando moment (but only in sweatpants and within 5 feet of a bathroom)

And guess what? My man still thinks I’m hot. Maybe hotter, because I’m not grimacing in pain or on a mid-wedgie rescue mission.

---

Real Girls Don’t Play Small (Even in Their Underwear)

I didn’t ditch thongs because I stopped feeling sexy. I ditched them because sexy got a whole new definition, and it has nothing to do with flossing your lady bits.

Sexy is owning your skin.
Sexy is comfort with conviction.
Sexy is showing up with full coverage, minimal slippage, and no apologies.

---

Now it’s your turn, Real Girls:

💥 When did you call it quits with the thong?
💥 What are you rocking now (or not)?
💥 Still clinging to that tiny triangle like it’s 2005? Blink twice. We’ll send help. Just kidding! Honestly it’s a flex.

Drop your stories in the comments, DM or email me (realgirlsguide55@gmail.com) or just scream into the void with your pants off.

We’re here for it.

Big love and zero wedgies,

#Parenting #HealthandWellness #Humor #Culture #PersonalGrowth