Swan - thong

The Michael thing was cancelled at the last minute as he had to go to America. Sigh.
We were talking at chocolate-time about how thongs are long out of date (I brought up the topic, because I’d discovered the Woo doesn’t wear them.) It’s the era of the hipster brief. I said I felt sad about this, because I’m so fond of thongs. Jo said she once had a Labradoodle that had a THING about her thongs, and used to search through the laundry basket for them and then eat them. (They came out the other end whole – but of course unusable.) Jo’s point of view was that they are dirty, stupid things. You can never keep them totally spotless, and they cut into you. They’re stressful to wear, too.
This is all true (and I suppose if my thongs were regularly recycled through a dog, I might feel the same), but I still adore the way there’s no panty-line, the way they look your legs so great, the way they look so pretty in the shop (and in a drawer), how small, and delicate and flimsy they are, as if you’re this beautiful little dolly that the female stereotype says you have to be.
‘Yes, but have you ever tried looking in a changing-room mirror, the ones with the gross back view, when you’re wearing one?’ Jo said, biting into a chocolate macaroon. She didn’t mean it nastily. Us ladies of the cakey build do have probs with back-view mirrors. But I always refuse to look at those views. In my mind I always look like that woman in Crocodile Dundee from behind, when wearing a thong. (In the scene where the crocodile tries to bite off her head.)