I should mention that it took me three tries to figure out how to spell underwear. These are the types of holes that are worrisome - the ones in my memory. Hopefully by the time I forget everything else, I will have forgotten that I ever knew those things to begin with.
Other types of holes, however, are just plain bothersome. Holes in my underwear, for instance. Why do I even still have them? Because I don't remember they have holes until I'm using the bathroom with nothing else to look at.
Mornings are rushed. I went to work with my skirt on in-side-out recently, so obviously I pay close attention to my appearance before leaving the house. Even if I do glance in the mirror, I will certainly never do it in my skivvies. I made that mistake once before and there's still a pain in my gut when I think about it. Expanding and sagging don't mix, and that's all I'll say about that.
By the time I've drowned myself in half a pot of coffee, I'm usually out of the house, on with my day, and ready for my first daylight trip to the bathroom. This is when I notice the holes and give myself a 'Hmm. That's right, these need to be replaced' mental note.
A moment later and I'm concentrating on how best to shut off the water and dry my hands without touching anything. The only holes left on my mind are the ones the paper towel might provide as I'm opening the door with it.
Who inspects their undies when they take them off and throw them in the dirty laundry? If I'm not looking at them when I put them on, what's the point when I'm done with them? Therein lies the problem, I suppose.
The holy underwear cycle continues.
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