Briefs

Um...
I am wearing pixie panties!

Don't wet these!


If provoked, I will tell *that* story.


I am on my way out the door to go to work and do a "swing shift." I work 11-7:30 to provide the other two managers with additional coverage. The good news? I don't have to close or open.
The bad news? It still manages to wreck my morning AND evening, because I am unlikely to get much done on La Mancha tonight.

I am meeting interesting new people at the store. Some actors/band members who want to recruit me for their show. A young woman looking for "service hours" for her project at school, who adores Halloween and Faeries. (heh. heh. heh. Wanna run away with the Faeries, little girl?)

Plans in the works for Archon. Looks like the current default setting is for the dance of the seasons.
Hey, nichan! Wanna join in this time?

Now. If anyone wants to hear a story, please let me know in a comment.

Ow! The Poking!

The Panties Story, Pt. 1:

When I was born, my mother received a large box of hand-me-down designer clothing from a friend. It was all these adorable "little girl" spanky sets. You know, the little frilly but somewhat short dress, and the special matching panties that are meant to be worn outside the diapers and seen.

So, I dressed very well right from the start.

Soon, I was being potty trained. My mother has "potty training" stories about me that are hilarious. I will save her the trouble and tell you myself;
I was perfectly content to "go" in my potty chair, so long as it didn't interfere with my activities. (I think that this is really the reason why kids have accidents. They aren't used to stopping whatever has their attention to "go" to the potty.)
So, we compromised. For my daily viewing of Sesame Street, if I had to go potty, I would haul the potty chair out of the bathroom and go in the living room while watching the show.

Go ahead. Laugh. It's MY big ol' dork show.

Moving along to the panties part.

So, one of the things that Mom would do to reinforce my potty training was to remind me not to wet my pants. She had just bought me some pretty "big girl panties" that weren't even the extra-padded training pants. They probably had little butterflies or turtles or something equally cute printed all over them. While getting me dressed, she put on my pretty new dress, and my pretty new panties. "Don't wet these," she reminded me. I repeated it back to her in my singsong toddler voice. "Don't wet these!"

We went over to my Aunt's house to visit with family and friends. (This was why I was all dressed up.) We walked in the door and someone said, "My goodness, Kukla! What a pretty dress you have on!"
I was proud of my new dress, and also my new panties. So, I lifted my skirt to my chin to show them off, too.
"Don't Wet These!" I beamed.

Yep.
Mom loves that story. Now I beat her to the punch and tell it myself.
And, for very special audiences, I have been known to show off particular underpants, by hiking my skirt to my chin and announcing, "Don't Wet These!"

The pair I have on qualifies. They're black, in a "boy" cut (complete with non-functional fly. It's like a pocket.) They have dark purple lace trim, and Tinkerbell printed on the front, and she's sparkly. There's text around her which states:
"Who you callin' a flirt?"
Don't Wet These!