underwear

There is no point in housing troubles inside your underwear if you can__ solve them by yourself.

My foggy brain slid away and_ And I was still dressed in only my bra and panties. Well, at least it__ a nice set of bra and panties. Yep, these were the thoughts going through my brain as I looked at a photo of a decapitated head on my bed.

I have long seen my spirituality as personal, to the degree that I harbor a slight mistrust for anyone who practices similarly. It is as though they are admitting to have on the same cut and color of underwear I do. It may be true, but I don't like to share these details with strangers.

I'll say it: I want to see an ugly woman as a spokeswoman for a women's network. Ugly men are out there all the time _ look at Larry King, for God's sake. He looks like someone's talking underwear. Why not give America a spokeswoman who ain't much to look at but is competent as Hell? If accomplishments actually count for women, this ought to be a no-brainer.

Some mistakes are worse than others: wearing your underwear inside out isn__ as uncomfortable as wearing it back to front.

No book worth its salt is meant to put you to sleep, it's meant to make you jump out of your bed in your underwear and run and beat the author's brains out.

This morning when I put on my underwear I could hear the fruit-of-the-loom guys laughing at me.

My most famous commercial was for Fruit Of the Loom underwear. I took a lot of razzing from my classmates.

I'm the master of distractions. A couple of hand gestures and BAM! I'll pull the underwear clean off your butt.

She thought of the things that lovely young women usually think about when they are relaxing in treetops and unhampered by underwear.

People who wear G-strings suffer from indecision.

Victorian rigidities were such that ladies were not even allowed to blow out candles in mixed company, as that required them to pucker their lips suggestively. They could not say that they were going "to bed"--that planted too stimulating an image--but merely that they were "retiring." It became effectively impossible to discuss clothing in even a clinical sense without resort to euphemisms. Trousers became "nether integuments" or simply "inexpressibles" and underwear was "linen." Women could refer among themselves to petticoats or, in hushed tones, stockings, but could mention almost nothing else that brushed bare flesh.

Nothing is ever free even a torn and worn underwear.

I__ talking to you in bed at one in the morning. How mad can I be?__ picture him there, in what, flannel pajamas? Underwear? Nothing at all?

As a general rule. it's a comfort issue, literally and metaphorically. And intimacy issue. It's a big step, putting on foreign underwear. Like betrayal, or emigration.

One of the main functions of a push-up bra is to lower the number of mothers who seem like mothers.

At this point I came across one of the vending machines that only Japan has. I have to admit that I love the whimsical items sold in such appliances, like all sorts of junk food, beer cans, whisky bottles and even underwear. This particular machine sold both whisky and underwear, which truly is a bizarre combination, or maybe not, considering all the underwear were female panties. It was therefore my theory that older men would come by and buy the whisky, and then when they were drunk and young women passed by, the men would then offer them panties as gifts for sexual favours. Ya, it all made perfect sense to me.

A commune of library employees in Moscow created an "extreme" commune in which all clothing - including undergarments - was collectivized. According to Mehnert, if a communard preferred to wear his or her own underclothes "it would be characterized as a backslide into darkest capitalism; as prejudice originating in a petit-bourgeois ideology".