I have a lingerie problem. I started last year when I developed a sudden phobia of wearing mismatched bras and panties and has only been exacerbated by the fact that most of my job involves being seen in some combination of nipple and pussy coverings propped up by heels and often spruced up with stockings and a necklace. I can legitimately say I don’t want lingerie. I need it.
Today I shot six photo sets for ClubKayden with Tammy Sands, my most recent great photographer find. Six photo sets means six outfits that involve lingerie. That’s weeks worth of shopping blown in a day. I’ll be back on set again tomorrow and probably at the mall again Wednesday. It’s unsustainable.
Granted-I do sell some of the lingerie. But not all of it. I get attached. I keep the comfy stuff, or the unique stuff, or the completely uncomfortable but really cute stuff. I wear it to the gym and to Starbucks. I wear it until the washing machine has beat the life out of it and straps are hanging by threads and once vibrant colors are placid pastels. It’s about a three month lifespan. And then it can’t be sold. Then I shop again, because after all, I need it.
The fucking lingerie catalogs should not come to me though. You do not leave beer kegs on the doorsteps of alcoholics or heroin in IV bags at rehab clinics. It is an unfair test of willpower. Today some catalogs came with promo codes. I can do all of my shopping, right here, right now, at a discount, on already discounted items. This nervous blog that you’re reading? This is me trying to win. I’m not winning though because there’s a babydoll pink and black polka dot and lace plunge push up bra and thong set on page 70 and it’s 25% off and I’m doing the math because with the additional promo code they’re practically giving it away and I’d be a fool to pass it up but it’s like that one cigarette to the guy who quit two weeks ago and therefore has proven he can quit, so he’s gonna indulge in just this one, because how much harm could it do, really?