Commando Like a Ballerina

This week was a grand experiment in underthingies. I am an underwear girl, I just am. But, dancers don't do the underwear thing. I decided to try it out when I had to skip a week of laundry and was down to one pair of Spanx to wear in lieu of proper shorts or a leotard. Well, I gave it two classes and I have a verdict: meh.
With regular tights it was pretty much standard operating conditions down there, but with mesh tights it was a lot less cozy and a lot more wedgie-making. I refuse to search for the proper word, there. Wedgie is as wedgie does.
Anyway, so that is how the experiement went. You know. In case you needed to know that for some reason.

In other news: our car got a flat tire yesterday and I only got to class by running to catch a commute train and squeaking in right as the previous class was ending. I would probably have just skipped it and stayed home but I have missed my Thursday class for the past two weeks (one because it was Independence Day, the other because I was an emotional wreck after dropping my cat off at the vet for 48 hours to have god-knows-what done to her) and I was in no mood to miss another. Annoyingly, I also had to take the train home afterward. Which I didn't have time to think about in advance. So I rode home in a sweaty leotard and pink tights. If I had thought about it I would have at least brought a sweater to toss on. As it was it was pretty embarrassing.
It reminded me of the pizza place. There is a pizza place that is on the way home from class so we only ever stop there when my husband has picked me up and we are going home. And we have been hitting it pretty hard the past couple of months because we've been all stressed out. But I only ever go in there in cutoff yoga pants and pink transition tights rolled up to my ankles and a sweaty leotard. They must think I just dress that way.