Lingerie. Why do we spend so much money on it? One silky negligee will put you back about as much as a pair of Levis, if not more. I wore some killer lingerie today, but the only person who ended up appreciating it was the chick in the loo when I was adjusting my bra strap. It was lovely though, white with black polka dots and pink trimmings.
Women buy lingerie that is either comfortable enough to get through the day or the type of stuff you put on in the hope someone will remove for you in the next twenty seconds before you die. We also choose our underwear depending on our mood.
Sometimes, when we have a horrible meeting, we will don siren red underwear. We do this so when some pinstriped suit is telling us how we just got passed over for promotion, we can say to ourselves with a small secret smile “I’m wearing siren red panties so go… yourself!” And all the while he stands there wondering why on earth we are smiling and are we about to go postal.
Men buy lingerie that is made of lace and itches like you have rubbed yourself down with poison ivy or that is utterly impracticable to wear for any length of time. Hence most of men’s lingerie purchases for women fall into the category of “get it off me now” – which is exactly what they intended anyway.
The thing is that when you’ve spent upwards of 45 minutes (not including all the prep work – waxing, trimming, scent, make-up etc.) doing up a million tiny clasps and lacing yourself into a corset that would make an Edwardian lady blush; you’d like it to be appreciated for more than a nanosecond. Especially if you’ve also spent an additional 20 minutes trying to make the bloody suspenders do up with the stocking seam going perfectly down the back of your leg. You might find suspenders sexy and they are, on other women. Suspenders are designed in a stupid way that mean that the back clasp digs into your thigh leaving you supremely uncomfortable and doing a Sharon Stone all night long.
It is not easy, which is why women are frequently late for dates and why we have the 3 date rule. The 3 date rule is not there to preserve our maidenly virtue. It is there to give us at least 2 dates to figure out if going to all the primping and preening is worth it. Trust me, if we’ve gone to all the effort, had our hairs pulled out by the roots, had the manicure, the facial, the hair done and the makeover, do not make the error of disappointing us. Remember what they say about a women scorned? She isn’t scorned, she’s pissed off that the ROI is practically nil.
I once had the amazing opportunity to purchase some lingerie at Agent Provocateur in London. The women were spectacular. On the day I arrived they were dressed in nurses’ uniforms, under which they modelled a startling array of the latest line.
Men could walk in with no idea of their girlfriend’s cup size and just point to the one that matched the closest. They’d even model your choice for you. Most importantly for me however, they did not touch me. Madonna buys her panties there and I can see why.
It couldn’t have been more different than the horror I experienced at the French Shop. I went in there to buy my wedding lingerie. At the time, 11 odd years ago (you tell how it scared me) the French Shop was about the only decent place in South Africa you buy some fancy French thong. I was not served by the AP supermodels. I was served by a Granny. Much to my fiancé’s amusement she proceeded to follow me into the changing room and brutally fondle my breasts into submission. I wanted to die. I felt like Joey in that episode of Friends when finds out that tailors are not to supposed to touch you quite so intimately. I didn’t buy the lingerie, I flew to San Francisco and bought some at Macy’s.
Cup sizes are another bizarre and often misunderstood thing. The girls and I figured it out today – the rating system, I mean, so here goes:
A is for Adequate
B is for Better
C is for Comfy
D is for Downright delicious
E is for Enormous
F is for F@#%ing hell!
G is for Good God!
H is for Hide me quick, the cops are coming!
Finally, if you think the underwear she wore on the 3rd date is what she wears all the time, man are you going to be disappointed when she moves in.
PS: To my husband who buys me beautiful underwear (11 years of training, ladies!) thank you.
The Blurred Line 
And you forgot that I noticed what you were wearing. And commented!