>Paris, I’ve discovered, is full of irony. French women have a reputation for going around with unshaved armpits (not that I observed this myself, mind you – it was about 45 degrees and lightly raining while I was there, so most people were bundled up) yet the only underwear they seem to sell pretty much requires some serious crotch shaving. Many stores seemed to only sell thongs. Some of the thongs were made to trick people into thinking they were normal briefs. Basically these models of thong had very wide lace bands that went around hips and underguts, but were attached to a thong on the bottom. If I’m going to wear something that looks like granny undies, it should fucking cover my whole ass for god’s sake.

Most of the underwear I saw on sale in Paris seemed to be made of lace or mesh. Not good if you’ve got hair, as it would be hanging out everywhere, and terrible for crotch rot. Maybe people there eat so much stinky cheese (delicious, I admit) to cover up the stench of crotch rot. (Interesting possibility. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a culture from women’s underwear.)

As I was walking down Rue Saint-Honore, a very sexy lingerie store had what became my favorite ridiculous French underwear displayed in the window. They were mesh and I was impressed at first by the full (if see through) ass coverage they provided the butt mannequin that was wearing them. However, a closer look revealed that there was a very thick seam that ran down the mostly nonexistent ass crack of the buttequin. (Damn! A thong built within a pair of bikini briefs! Is there no escape from the ass floss?) The mesh was bunched up along the seam for that hot retro ‘80s “ruched” look. As I contemplated how uncomfortable these underwear seemed, the obnoxious demeaning phrase “Don’t get your panties in a bunch” ran through my mind. Anyone wearing these babies always had her panties in a bunch. For the first time it occurred to me that maybe I should get a pair of these underwear, as I am usually bent out of shape about something or other. If someone had the nerve to tell me not to get my panties (panties – damn, I hate that word) in a bunch, I could reply, “Too late, fuckface! Kiss my smelly ass!”