With baby in tow and gift card in hand, we strolled into the mall. My BFF was on a mission and was dragging her husband and I into Victoria’s Secret.

As someone who has always appreciated the appeal of adorable undergarments, I’m proud to say I’ve never owned a single pair of granny panties. I’m a Victoria’s Secret customer-for-life who prides herself on her commitment to matching her tops and bottoms.

Admittedly though, over the years the replenishing of my panty inventory had diminished as a priority. Regardless of what I wore, the man I recently left didn’t seem to notice and over time I had transitioned to buying out of necessity, instead of for nookie.

Staring at a thong-clad mannequin with legs up to my neck, I realized that if panties had best-if-used-by labels like canned foods, I would have thrown all of mine away.

I don’t have any panties that look like that.

An internal dialog ensued: I am going to be single. I am going to go on dates. Eventually I am going to make out with single people and I don’t own any of those kinds of panties.

In an attempt to calm my increasing heart rate I decided to conduct a mental inventory of each style currently on display. As my list grew, so did the lump in my throat. My plan wasn’t working. I was suffocating in a sea of panties.

I retreated to my friend and her husband and whispered, “I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know about panties. I don’t know how to be single. I don’t know how to date and I don’t know what single guys expect with girls or panties or when dating.”

Always observant, my BFF’s husband reminded me, “I am a guy. Ask me.”

I surveyed the room, pointed at a pair and asked, “Like those, do guys like that?”

He replied, laughing, “Uh, yea.”

I pointed at another, “And those? You like to look at a butt crack?”

“Uh, yea.” he repeated.

“And those? And those? And those?” I asked, pointing at others around the room gathering a sample size large enough to draw a sufficient conclusion from his male opinion.

“Yea, yea, and yea.”

Each “Yea” was like a tiny little dose of valium.

As it turns out, men like pretty panties.

Period.

Maybe being single isn’t going to be as terrifying as I thought.