It started innocently enough. Jolene would occasionally snag a sweaty sock and secret it away in her crate. I'd notice it was missing and admonish her, and life would go on as normal. However, her obsession with footwear slowly developed into a fetish for more "intimate" apparel. Jolene became an underwear stealer. Though {now} ashamed, Jolene reveals that she soon grew tired of sock stealing and wanted to try her hand at Victoria Secret PINK cotton bikini panties.
Not lululemon workout undies, not PINK yoga hipster briefs. But the old-school, no longer made, best fitting from college through my 20s pairs. The bumblebee print that were deemed {superstitiously} lucky - worn at vocal boards and recitals galore... a favorite print of polka dots... even the mod circle pattern that looked great with a tan... Each of these {and countless others} fell prey to Jolene's crocodile smile. She would skulk around the dirty clothes basket, streak to grab a pair from the bathroom floor, and even {on occasion} grab them RIGHT OUT OF THE DRYER. It was a downward spiral with no end in sight.
Thankfully, Jolene's bender came to {what I thought was} an end. Her obedience school start date arrived, and she was shipped off to boarding school. I sighed in relief, thankful for the reprieve, and thought about a trip to Easton to restock during her absence. But before I could sift through the colorful underpinnings at Vicky Secrets, Jolene's poor choices had one more repercussion...
While Jolene was away, I took the opportunity to indulge in long morning workouts at the neighborhood gym. Sometimes, I'd lose track of time and have to rush through my morning preparation in order to hit the road before traffic reared its head in downtown Columbus. On the day in question, the morning was a whirlwind of havoc-filled restroom breaks and attempts to teach addition with regrouping {carrying, to all of you without an extensive Math vocabulary}. Throughout the morning, I'd noticed a slight issue with my undergarments. They seemed... small. Way too small. Immediately jumping to the conclusion that I'd been enjoying too much Jeni's Icecream {bane of my existence in Columbus, OH} - I shrugged it off and kept striving to be Teacher of the Year. But, the feeling couldn't be vanquished.
It was only during a frantic lunchtime restroom break that I discovered the truth. Though she'd been gone for days {in which I had missed her terribly}, Jolene had managed to put her paw print on my morning. Where my fingers should have found chevron striped material, there was a gaping hole. {More precisely - four gaping holes that left the entire right side of the undie hanging by a LITERAL thread}. I gasped, cursed impulsively, and then had to stop and laugh. The mishaps of the morning {and my clever canine} had definitely left my panties "in a wad". I spent the rest of the day praying that the last shred of elastic would hold until 3PM. {It did}.
Jolene returned a week later - a real Southern lady with impeccable on-leash manners. But once in awhile, she relapses {as most addicts do}. She lunges toward a graffiti decorated pair of bikini briefs or eyes a tanga longingly. But she's taking it one step at a time {bless her heart}.
So now you know - we Southern Belles aren't perfect. We have our shameful pasts. But remember - don't judge. We're sure you have a few dirty little secrets of your own...
XO,
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