I went shopping for some new underbritches last night. My "full-coverage-wear-with-skirts-on-a-windy-day" drawers were looking a bit ragged. So it was off to the no asterisk store to get some new panties. They no longer carried the style that I bought the last time, so I bought their latest offering in the size I always buy. The size I've been wearing for nearly ever, the size that I've worn in a forty pound range. This size, that when I put them on this morning felt like I was crawling into an intertube. I re-peeked at the size again to make sure that I hadn't bought some sort of tour-de-france-for-little-people underpants, but no, the size on the label was the same as on the hangar.
But OUCH. They are not wearing any better this afternoon than they did this morning. And I now own several pairs of these torture devices.