Remnant

I am convinced that I must unknowingly wear four pairs of underwear a day. I will wash them, grudgingly, each week. There usually appear to be enough of them to clothe the naked bottom of every stripper across Europe.

But here it is, Thursday, and I am staring at the last clean pair I can find. They are a thing of the past. Delicate, lacy. A thong. I hold them eye level and give 'em the once over. Carefully I lower them and slide one foot in. The wrong hole. I try again.

The thin cotton slides between my cheeks and I stand for a moment. Facing sideways to the mirror. I admire the roundness of my bottom. I almost look... Sexy. I bend over to get my pants off the floor thinking I could hold this feeling, elated, all day.

The thin cotton rides up uncomfortably. I suddenly feel less sexy and more elderly.
With hemorrhoids.

I pull them back off and decide to be brave.