GOT MY BIG GIRL PANTS ON

and I'm never taking 'em off

There comes a time in life, when you stop buying arse-floss masquerading as underwear and start shopping for pants like you’re in the market for a second hand hatchback;
is it roomy, you ask yourself.
Is it robust?
Could you fit a couple of suitcases in the boot? 

Now, not to brag, but my knickers, are a feat of engineering. Honestly. You could abseil down their seams. Were you to lay them flat, you could host a small picnic on their surface area; a modest charcuterie board, little tub of olives, maybe even a bottle of cava, if you’re feeling ambitious.

Once, I fell off a mountain bike, in what witnesses later described as ‘a catherine wheel of hairy legs and tragedy.’ It could have ended badly. It should have ended badly. But, mid-air, my enormous knickers caught the breeze and deployed themselves into a makeshift parachute.
I gently floated down to safety (not unlike Mary Poppins and her umbrella, drifting past the chimneys of Edwardian London) only slightly scarring a family of hikers and several local dogs in the process.