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"I see your underpants!" It happened while I was on my way home. My dress is not too short (three fingers above the knee), but the wind gives enough room to play with it. I had to make a choice: be confident that my shopping glass scale would linger without destroying my balance or with a safe shopping feeling at risk of very bare thighs and possibly send my - oh dear - even a patch underwear. Sometimes I would even want my thoughts went to punctuation. I understand that soon an age when you can not draw to show. Underwear you dress / skirt up or pants down I've therefore no need. But the spastic fear that friends sometimes talk about (and I sometimes get hit by) to mostly nothing to show, is against me. My pants are clean and very chic and sometimes (I have two weeks ago bought a black lace set that I'm gone). Between my legs no ranting jungles of red pubic hair and will not be visible traces of bodily fluids. Why my screams Keep The Boel Covered side still my side Underwear But Is It? Certainly by society. Our culture. That is always the easiest to blame.
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