So, I enabled comment moderation a while back as a way to deal with an unpleasant troll. Other than that, I don’t censor. However, a couple of days ago, I received a notification to approve a comment, and it was from someone pleading the case for camel toe. Long time readers know it became my job somewhere along the line to educate folks on why women shouldn’t flash that thing. I’m not sure how it happened, maybe I just got in on the ground floor of the whole leggings are not pants thing.
The comment was hilarious – in a nutshell the guy said women shouldn’t stress about it because men don’t mind CT. Frankly, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, it’s basically a front wedgie. If I see a dude with a regular wedgie, I’m going to be at least a little embarrassed for him, and I would imagine guys feel the same way, but who knows? I could be totally wrong. I was about to approve the comment when I noticed his url. I won’t go into detail, but his entire website was dedicated to camel toe, and the first thing that popped up was a workout video in high speed. As you probably guessed, the poor woman had a gnarly case of the front wedgie. Like bad. And because I am immature, I began laughing hysterically, which brought my husband into the room. Each photo or video was worse than the next, and we cackled like old ladies, because marriage is nothing if not a lifetime of laughing at stupid shit with someone.
At any rate, I did not approve the comment. First, my blog gets flagged as containing inappropriate content enough as it is, and secondly, I have no way of knowing if the ladies on the website consented to have their images shown. It’s hard to tell these days, my instinct is to say of course they didn’t, but chicks are forever posting suggestive and half nekkid pics of themselves on facebook, so for all I know every image was self submitted. On the other hand, if they were submitted without their knowledge, then shame on me for laughing.
All this got me to thinking, how could any of them not be aware their vaginas were consuming their clothing? Aside from the fact that I don’t wear toe-inducing garments, I always do a once over prior to walking out the door. Front and back in a full length mirror. Always. My husband mocks me endlessly over it. After I check my backside, he will saunter up to the mirror, do a half turn, and stick out his butt in imitation of me. I’ve explained to him on numerous occasions that I’m checking to make sure I don’t have a sock stuck to my ass, or, god forbid, a hole in my pants. A quick looksy in the mirror before trotting out into the world prevents all sorts of embarrassment.
Well, not always. Once, my husband and I had just walked into World Market to pick up some wine on a weekend afternoon. It was summer, and I had on my favorite white halter dress. We were maybe fifteen steps into the store when a woman gently grabbed my arm and told me the lining in my dress was tangled. Obviously, the first thing I did was reach back to check, and by tangled she meant it had completely ridden up, leaving nothing but a very thin white material between my ass and the world. The second thing I did was thank her for telling me, to which she responded, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but I figured I’d want someone to tell me.”
Immediately I dragged my husband away to find an abandoned corner in order for me to get my dress situated. Incidentally, completely unrelated to this post my husband mentioned that dress several days ago, as it was a favorite of his. You want to know why I don’t wear it anymore, babe? The same reason I will probably never wear a white dress again, fear that you will not notice if I’m inadvertently flashing the world.
Where am I even going with all this? Oh, right, moderating the camel toe comment. Maybe none of the women on the website were aware what was going on down there. For all I know, there’s a website with a pic of me, wandering around with the lining of my dress wrapped around my waist, showing my backside.
And if one of you happens to come across that, don’t bother to tell me, I don’t want to know.