I've been putting off buying new panties for ages, always telling myself it's just a waste of money since I knooooooowwwww I'll be losing a lot of weight soon. God, there's nothing better than being delusional, is there? But then, my panties brought me back to a harsh reality several times over the last 6 months or so. They were stretching out badly, which I promptly decided wasn't that my panties were getting bigger, but rather, I was losing weight and I was getting smaller. See how that works? Then they got a few little holes around the elastic band, but that didn't matter since I was going to have to get new ones soon. You know, since I will be getting smaller. *nods* The other day, I came home from running a bunch of errands and a neighbor commented I had a long string on the back of my pants, on my butt. I couldn't see it, but I reached back and felt it. I went to pull it off and it just kept coming. As I stood there pulling, both of us staring in fascination, I started involuntarily walking in a circle as I pulled...I guess I thought that might speed it up or something. My neighbor started to snort hysterically as it dawned on us both that the waistband of the panties I was wearing was unraveling and I had a length of fuzzy elastic string maybe 3 miles long in my hand. I was a little dizzy, too. Niiiiiiiiice. Even nicer than knowing I'd had that string hanging down my butt in the bank, in the post office and in the mall. But that did not deter me from my quest to not buy new panties until I'd lost all the weight I wanted to loose. No, not me. My final straw, my panty epiphany, came in the liquor store as I was buying a big ol' bottle of rum and a bottle of cheap red wine because all the cooking shows say you need to cook with wine. I noticed the sales clerk looking at me funny and my hand immediately went around to my butt to see if I was trailing any more elastic. Nope, it felt fine. Hmmm. But there I stood with $20 of alcohol in my hands, not thinking a damn thing about it, while checking my worn out underwear to make sure it wasn't disintegrating in public view again. And let me tell you, the irony of *that hit me. I don't hesitate to spend $20 on alcohol, but won't spring $12 on a couple of packs of Hanes Her Ways that I could toss in 6 months. You know, if I actually lost that weight. I marched myself up to the register, where the clerk said, "You look just like my sister in law! I thought you were her!" and we had the appropriate "everyone has a twin" conversation. From there, I headed for Wal-Mart and grabbed up two 9-packs (buy 6, get 3 free!!) of nice, white, highcut briefs. I'm not telling the size, I'm admitting enough already around here, I think. Anyway, I came straight home and tossed out all my old ones, but for one pair. I figured I'd save those for when I was doing nasty yard work or going fishing. Or something. Hell, I don't know why I saved them. That's beside my point, anyway...my point is, it's just amazing how much better a person feels with brand new panties on. Who knew?