That Th-Th-Th-Thong

When I was 14, I began the campaign to my mother to begin wearing thong underwear. I tried everything to convince her that all of my underwear needed to be replaced with thongs. I think a lot of it stemmed from the fact that I had just been allowed to wear makeup and wanted to push her further.

It would be cheaper! It would be more comfortable! No panty lines! (And believe me, with my mothers love for buying me polyester stretch pants, that last one was a big deal for me.)

I tried and tried but it was all in vain. She was not having it.

She felt that if I wanted sexy underwear, it was because I wanted to have sex.

So, she continued to buy cotton high-rise underwear. Because apparently, that alone would prohibit me from having sex.

The truth was, sex was not on my mind at all. I never admitted it out loud, but the real reason I wanted cuter underwear was because that was what the girls in the locker room at school wore cuter underwear. I was already chubbier than other girls, and had to wear glasses. Why did what I wore have to be a third strike against me?

The thinner, prettier girls at school knew they were pretty. They would preen and walk around, unlike me and my best fried who took turns changing into our gym clothes in the bathroom stall in the five minutes before class began.

I think I wanted that confidence. I wanted to look in the mirror and look sexy and feel good about the way I looked. It was not at all about sex, or attracting others. It was about feeling good about myself.

Looking back, I understand what my mother meant. I understood how she felt. I occasionally talk to kids in high school and raise my eyebrows and feel shocked about things that, looking back, weren't a big deal when I was that age.

I don't know if, when I am a grown up, and my fourteen year old asks to wear thong underwear, I will let her. I may react differently than my mother. I may ask her why she really wants it. I may even do what my mom would have considered unthinkable and ask my partner for their equal opinion and contribution to the decision.

Or, I may just say, "Why the hell do you need to feel sexy at 14? Hell no. You can wait until you move out."

Time will tell, I suppose.

My Unconventional Convention

In one of my communications classes today, we began discussing whether or not chivalry was dead.

"When I get to a door, I stop. My husband knows to step forward and open that door for me," said my professor.

"Really?" I asked.

"I know that's right," chimed in several girls.

"Why ya'll always gotta expect us to pay for the first date?" asked one of the guys in the class.

"Well, if you want a second date, you had better pay for that first one," responded one of the girls.

What?!

Maybe I'm crazy. Or maybe it's just the fact that both I and my partner are bisexual and don't care about gender roles.

When it comes to doors: who ever gets there first opens the door for the other. I am NOT going to stand there and wait for him to open the door like I'm a princess any more than I would jump up and treat him like a prince.

Every single date we've ever had has been dutch, except birthdays. This includes Valentine's Day and New Years. I pay my way, he pays his. This is mainly because he won't let me pay due to his manliness, and I think it's stupid for him to pay when I make more money than him.

If he's cold, I give him my jacket. If I'm cold, he gives me mine. If we're both cold and I forgot my jacket, I do not expect him to give me his. I'm the dumb ass who forgot my jacket; I don't expect him to suffer.

Whoever has the most gas in their car drives. This usually turns out 50/50.

I am not going to wait two minutes in the car waiting for him to unbuckle his seatbelt and come around to my door to open it.

I am not a princess. I am not on a pedestal. I do not need to be treated like I am.

I am his equal. I treat him with the utmost respect and he treats me the same.

We are a complete partnership. That is what I want in a relationship.

Who knew that was so revolutionary?