I’ve been in two long distance relationships. I’d like to say that this is sheer coincidence and not a product of my intimacy issues, but that’s not important to the story and, truthfully, we’ll never really know.
So the whole thing about long distance relationships, and pretty much any relationship, is that you find yourself constantly missing the other person. You miss them more than just for who they are. Instead, you miss them for the things you didn’t even notice they had until they were gone. Like a smell, or a weird way they always, always put their arm around you. Stuff like that. Things that can, physically, go “missing.”
If I understand this so well, then I should have better understood why a boyfriend once asked if he could keep a pair of my underwear.
The conversation went like this:
[I am looking around his room for my jeans from the night before. Under his bed, I stumble across a particularly beautiful lavender lace thong of mine that was presumably left there from earlier that week.]
Me: Hey, look! I found this thong! I knew I was missing one! Yay!
Him: Haha.
[I put the thong in a pile with the rest of my things on his dresser. Hours pass, and we have to say goodbye for another extended period of time. I go to collect my pile from the dresser. He picks up the thong.]
Him: Can I keep this?
Me: Are you kidding? Or are you being serious? I can’t really tell so I’m just genuinely asking.
Him: I’m being totally serious.
Me: Um, okay. If you really want to.
So I let him keep the thong. I didn’t think it was weird that he asked–honestly, I was kind of flattered–though the only real cultural context I had for this moment of my life was this part of The Hot Chick:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_AA00S-uinY
I wasn’t nervous that my then-boyfriend was gay and wanted to try my underwear on, like Rob Schneider in this movie, and not that there would be a problem with either of those things happening, but I realized in a weird way–a way in which I, a heterosexual female, do not fully understand–that the panties were a sort of security blanket.
I realized that because then, I remembered that I had two pair of his boxers at home, which I loved to wear to sleep.
And I had a too-big, slightly ripped at the collar t-shirt that I stole. (And still wear to sleep, seven months post-breakup.)
And another t-shirt he told me to keep because it was too small on him.
And one more t-shirt that used to be one of his favorites but he let me wear to bed one time anyway. (Pro tip: never let a girl wear a t-shirt to bed if it’s one you want to see again. Well, see again on your own body.)
I wear boys’ t-shirts to sleep more than I do my own pajamas, which really makes a statement because someone like me gets a lot of satisfaction out of wearing nice, matching, soft sleepwear. As I’ve grown up, t-shirts from people I’ve loved–which is really only two people–have become like Linus-level security blankets. They work better than Xanax when it comes to rocking me soundly to sleep.
So, I guess we should cut the guys some slack. Most often, they won’t fit into our t-shirts. They do steal our sweatshirts–that’s a fact. But they won’t fit into our underwear either. They don’t steal our hats and wear them backwards. They don’t stick their feet in our shoes just to hear us tell them how tiny their little feet are. Maybe that’s just me. Whatever.
Regardless, we’ve got to let the boys have something. And if it’s going to be something that allows us to express our mutual right to open sexuality–in the sense that I, admittedly, am satisfied not knowing I’ve satisfied my PIS (partner-in-sex) but because I feel empowered (in the most feministic of ways) from the excitement of knowing that I have the power to excite someone else, and that power solely lies in my hands–then eff yeah. I’m all for that.
It’s very possible that I won’t be able to completely equate a guy keeping his girlfriend’s underwear to a girl keeping a baggy sweatshirt. And that’s probably because they are just different things.
Thongs are the new male security blankets. Get wit it.
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