After wearing granny underwear—I hate, hate, hate the word panties—and my husband's briefs for the last eight months because of my C-section, my dear friend alerted me to a fantastic product, Commando underwear.
Since my son was lovingly extracted from my body, I have been complaining to everyone I know that regular women's underwear hits you right at your scarline. No matter how high-waisted in looks on the hanger, it knows right where to fall once you put it on. And it freaken' hurts, almost as much as my son's kicks to my groin when I'm dressing him.
As happy as I am, I'm also a little disappointed. I thought that the creation of seamless underwear was going to be my million dollar idea. I even drew up a prototype and gave it to my grandmother, who is an avid seamstress. The success would have been good for her, too. She really needs to stop making those homely angel ornaments. For God's sake the world has enough cheery crafts!
Alas, it was not meant to be. Though for $26 a pop, maybe the world needs a cheaper version for us commonfolk. I mean, I live in a town where the haircut du jour (every jour) is the mullet. How bout $10? Then we'd all have underwear and enough for the Supercut's special.
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