… and it’s (jelly roll, please) WOMEN’S TRAINING TIGHTS.
Holy ass-size, Batman. Can they make these things any more humiliating? Or distasteful for the poor souls exercising or running behind you? I mean, think about it. Your ass is jolting, walloping, smacking and banging… and you don’t even have them ON yet. And just for shims and wiggles, let’s talk panties. Do you wear panties under these torture devices? Can you? Talk about getting your panties in a bunch. It’s more like getting your panties in a bind.
What fiend came up with this lively experiment, anyway? Was there some fascination with the potential squadrons of women pouring themselves into black spandex/lycra, compressing every last inch of cellulite to their tushes (is this a word?). And then there are the names of these constrictors. No, no. Not Pinion Pants or Stifle Tights. Not Stuck Hard or Padlocked or Vulnerable. Or how about Hogtied.
No. These things are called Bliss and Extreme. Personal Best and Ultimate. Ultimate what? Permanent binding of the two cheeks of your ass? I kind of like having that good old crack… just where it belongs.
So, anyway. I’m heading out to bathing suit shop with the biggest smile cracked on my face and with the other crack just where it should be.