Is It A Bird? Is It A Plane? No, It's SuperPants

Oh Oh Oh They're Magic

Now that my flesh coloured, waist height magic knickers (currently blowing in the breeze on the washing line, cloaked by a large towel after wearing them for ten agonising and intensely elasticated hours yesterday) are a big part of my life and my blog, public outings both on and off, have become increasingly regular.

As no one has taken me aside to explain required etiquette of the semi-public airing of one’s smalls, or in our case, larges, I have devised a cunning strategy to disguise the XXL Boxer Shorts with a hole in exactly the place you’d expect Accountant to have made one, aforementioned giant pants and padded bras that weigh down our line and credibility.

I remember our old next door neighbour used to proudly peg up a bountiful array of miniscule lacy thongs in a rainbow of racy colours which used to leave Accountant drooling at the back bedroom window like a fifteen year old.

With a bottom all wrong for thongs, I peg my M&S car covers on the West (where our neighbour is too old to focus) with something larger and more attractive to the East (where younger 20/20 vision couple reside). If they are super-sized and, therefore, super embarrassing, they are hung to the North West end of the line, where extra privacy is afforded by the parasol.

Whilst this strategy currently works well for me, I remain interested in what lengths, if any, other big panted women, partial to outdoor airing, go to in order to disguise their blubber covers. Answers on an email to peaseyweasey@yahoo.co.uk please.