A couple months ago, I went grocery shopping at Walmart in my black, Lulu yoga pants.
Commando.
BEFORE YOU EVEN ASK, “No.” This is not a common occurrence. I do not generally run around without underpants. I am, in fact, a lover of underpants, and almost every pair of my underpants are of the granny variety. I think they’re technically called “boy cut,” like men’s briefs only a bit slimmer through the hip, but still. I have as much fabric in my underpants as I do in my sports bra.
[Sad, but absolutely true. Itty Bitty Titty Committee founding member, call sign “Skittles.”]
