Liar-Liar Pants Are Dire

My mind has been in a whirl all day. You see, I watched a "gripping" feature on Breakfast TV which has completely changed my outlook on life - it was all about "control pants".
There I was, chomping on my High Fibre Bumblockerflakes, when Dermot O'Smileyman said that some sort of nationwide pants survey had been conducted and, apparently, 237 per cent of women owned up to regularly wearing these revolutionary new front and back bottom awnings.
Before the BBC's top news reporters got into the meat of the piece, however, my mind began to race. You see, Pither is a bit of an expert on the subject of ladies' pants.
I am no stranger to the two-bits-of-string-and-a-tiny-Coronation-Day-flag style of flossing undergarment favoured by many girlies these days, the very-soon-to-be ex-Mrs Pither being among them. The other end of the Knickter Scale, meanwhile, is exemplified by a lass with whom I was once well acquainted who wore pants which, once she had hacksawed them off at the end of the day, I used to drape over my estate car to keep the frost off it in winter.
In between there is a mind bogling array of muff masks, almost all of which Pither has tangled with. There are bikinis, boy shorts and briefs, there are Tangas and thongboys, there are high-cuts and hipsters, there are low-risers and there are moderately lows, really lows and even daringly lows......but "control pants"? They were new to me.
Were they, I thought, some sort of state-of-the-art, hi-tech pants which, much like a superhero's cozzie, endowed the pantee with paranormal powers to subdue the will of others and conquer the world? There was also the possibility that they carried a kind of on-board mini-computer which spoke to the wearer in a very sultry lady's voice, much like a sat nav in a car, saying things like "Warning! Bladder at bursting point" or "Haemalert! Haemalert! Insert Lillet!" or "Juices flowing - these pants will automatically lower in one minute!"
It turned out they were none of these - but control pants none the less came as a shock to me. You see, they should more accurately be called "lying pants".
There are various different styles but ostensibly they are about the size of a ten-year-old boy's school shorts and are made out of some sort of highly elasticated, fire retardant, rubber-infused, heavy canvas-like material. They are about as sexy as a photo of Ann Widdecombe sitting on the bog but it is their elastication which has proved a big hit with the girls. You see, as the adverts say, they "flatten out those little lumps and bumps". In truth, dam-like, they hold back the torrents of glycogen which make the poor, unfortunate uncontrolled pant wearer who dares to wear a close-fitting dress resemble a relief map of the Malverns.

There are several downsides to these 21st Century pants, as I see it. From a girly's point of view, you had better hope that the super-elasticated material from which they are hewn is also highly absorbant and deodorised as, when nature calls, your chances of getting them off in the ladies in under three hours without an adjustable spanner and an oxyacetylene torch are almost nil. There is also the drawback posed by the laws of physics. Matter/energy can neither be created nor destroyed and so all that flab pulled in around a voluminous arse or Bernard Manning-style gut has to go somewhere! You may end up with the torso of a fashion model but how attractive is it to have a 47ins neck!!

From a boy's point of view - what a swizz! Picture the scene. You get this vision of loveliness back to your grief hole, you uncork the wine and you dim the lights. Then, as Barry White takes the sexual tension to fever pitch on the stereo, she slides out of her figure-hugging dress and.........pulls a ripcord after shouting "Let 'em go!!!" All of a sudden her arse is where her knees are and her gut is brushing her stilettos. Christ alone knows what will happen when she takes her bra off! I suppose, looking on the bright side, it will pull the wrinkles out of her face!
The ripcord mentioned above is just in my imagination, you understand. In fact, control pants come with no such quick release device. Once she has slipped out of that dress, would it really be possible to maintain an erection after you've said "Ok, just lie on my Workbench and I'll go and get the socket set and pliers"?
No, control pants are just the female equivalent of stuffing a sock down your hipsters to catch the eyes of the ladies. They can go to Grantham.