Yet another part of the feminine mystique.

I swear, women have so many neuroses. How is it humanly possible that the female of the species has made it through the Darwinian combine? You'd think that, considering all our fallibility, women would long since have been rendered extinct just by simply overanalyzing ourselves to death.

Here's my dilemma. Tomorrow night, R and I have plans of some sort. The Ballet fell through, as did my "Plan B". So it looks like just a movie kind of night. Would you wear "the good underwear"? I'm having a significant struggle with this. If it were anyone else that I were going out with, there would be no question ... new tanga's for all! But I feel as if I may be presumptuous if I wear "the good underwear" ... But I would feel not at the top of my game if I were not wearing "the good underwear" ...

How much must I think on this prior to exploding all over my living room?