"Are they supposed to go up this high?"

The only downside to Ms. K working is that we now have completely different schedules, which means that we either see each other as I get ready for work in the morning or when she gets back from the restaurant late at night. It's a small sacrifice to make in exchange for the security of employment, right?

Last night marked the restaurant's first official night open. When Ms. K came home I was already asleep, deeply enough that I groggily kissed her as she joined me in bed, her lips and face cold from her bike ride home.

"Hi, honey," she whispered, the scent of the restaurant lingering on her clothes and in her hair as I snuggled up against her.

"Hi, baby," I answered, still half asleep. "How was work?"

She regaled me of the evening and how a group of lesbians stopped by, one of whom gave Ms. K her number. Cheeky. At least they tipped well.

As she readied for bed, which meant getting naked, she noticed I was still wearing my knickers.

"What's that?" she asked, motioning to the offending garment.

At first I thought she just wanted me to remove the underwear, since she's the boss of the bed and likes her lady naked. But as I slid them off, I could tell that she meant something else.

I should note that I have to laundry, which means, as every woman knows, being forced to wear the dregs of the underwear collection. What Ms. K discovered, much to my chagrin, was a pair of dark gray high cut briefs with an embroidered floral pattern. (If you all ever wanted to know why no one would sleep with me for three and a half years, look no further than this pair of Big Girl Panties.)

"Let me see them!" she playfully demanded, but I had already tossed the underwear over the side of the bed in anticipation of being made fun of.

Undeterred by my hiding of the evidence, Ms. K threw her body over me and snatched the BGP from the floor and unleashed a torrent of good natured teasing.

"Oh, honey, these are sexy," she said, waving them in front of me disdainfully. "This is definitely the sort of underwear one wears when fancying cats in accordance with the latest cat fancying trends."

I rolled over and began to pout. "Thanks for making me hate myself more," I groaned, voice muffled from the pillow that was covering my face. (Ms. K had inadvertently tapped into a very large vein of Fat Girl shame.)

"I'm going to put them on!"

"Please," I begged like a woman being handed a death sentence. "Please don't."

No mercy was granted. "Are they supposed to go up this high? It's like underwear and a tube-top all in one!"

I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of looking, but I rolled over nonetheless and beheld the humiliating sight of her wearing my underwear. The waistband was so high that it came only inches from her breasts.

In a huff, I rolled back away from her and pouted some more.

She cajoled me to come back, promising that she teased only because she loved. After some commotion from her side of the bed, I felt her poking at my back. "Look, honey!"

I turned and saw that Ms. K had put the underwear on her head. Her long, dark curly hair was tucked neatly into my BGP. She seemed to think that she was very clever for some reason.

"Look, it's a hat!"

I have to go and die now.