Granny Pants

I went to a new rolfer last week for lower back issues. Anyone who has been to a rolfer before, knows the drill. You pretty much are in your underwear for the session - especially at the beginning because the rolfer is examining your structure (i.e. you are standing in your underwear while he looks at your body) before he begins to work on you. Being in my underwear isn't a problem - I have two kids (read: given birth in a hospital where all of you is there for everyone to see) and Dan went to college with my rolfer and swears he is gay. It was my choice of underwear for inevitable public viewing that gave me pause. Granny pants.

To be fair - I do not have much to choose from. For some reason I have become super cheap and refuse to buy new underwear until it is threadbare (my husband is the same way, but still I think mine are more worse for wear). I have several pair that I bought at Target 5 years ago while in Arizona after my luggage was stolen that are still in the rotation - okay, I am embarrassed just typing that. On the other hand I have some VERY expensive fancy thong underwear (which includes a $75 pair that my mom got on sale for me - yes, they are very fancy) for special occasions. A rolfing session seemed an inappropriate setting for a thong. So I decided on a relatively new pair (bought a little over a year ago) that might just be the biggest pair of panties I own. Seriously. When I took them out of the box, I saw Dan's face and his expression seemed to convey, how many pairs of underwear is that??? The thing is, these underwear were a mistake. I bought them at Costco (because I am cheap, remember) and I thought I was buying bikini style. This was not to be the case. They were french cut (which for the record sounds fancy and hip, but it is not, please be forewarned and do not make this mistake). For some reason I did not return the underwear. I became a martyr - I vowed to wear them until they fell apart (sadly I am learning that they may just be around for a long time - remember the underwear from five years ago that are still with me???).

Back to my rolfing session. As I am standing in front of my rolfer - in my yoga bra (excellent choice) and bloomers (horrible choice) - I am feeling like my underwear is the elephant in the room. They are so enormous, how can we not talk about them? Yet here I stood facing him, turning side to side and (ugh) my back to him (this just might be the worst view - the fabric covers my entire butt and some of my lower back - the Amish cover less).

Finally he is done with examining my structure and I can lie on the table. Yet now I am lying face down with a parachute on my ass. The thing is he is very professional - and I really believe he could care less and is more focused on my structural problems. But when he politely asked if he could roll down the elastic waist of my underwear so he could really work on the muscles in my lower back I lost it. I started laughing hysterically - I could not stop. I now have proof that my underwear is too big - he needed to ROLL IT DOWN.

If this was not bad enough, I proceed to tell my rolfer why I am laughing. You heard me. I am discussing my large underwear with him. The fact that I chose this pair over a ratty ancient pair and a fancy thong. That these are my choices. I am crying of laughter at this point. Why can I NOT shut up? Stories and descriptions of panties keep leaving my mouth while my internal dialog is saying, SHUT UP you granny pants wearing fool!

When I return home, Dan asks how it was. Great - sort of. I explain what happened. Dan is laughing at me (I really do not think with me). The thing is - I used to not even wear underwear. However, that would still leave me in a predicament at the rolfer. And although my rolfer swears it was the perfect rolfing underwear, I still think I need a couple of new pairs.