Overpriced lingerie: the expectations versus the reality, with the Mash sex columnist

ASK any man with swollen nuts and a stagnant love life hoping nobody sees him in Ann Summers: spending unaffordable amounts on risqué lingerie is a sure route to a shag. 

But is it worth blowing what realistically is a month’s beer money on a few co-ordinated scraps of lace? This is the fantasy versus what will actually happen:

She’ll look like a supermodel

Your partner has a body that’s lived a life: a life of comfy desk chairs and family-size bars of Dairy Milk. A good life. But not a life compatible with mesh panties which make her buttocks look like netted salami.

The sexy elastic is digging in to create a four-buttcheek effect and the overall effect is less Victoria’s Secret and more Victoria’s Oversharing After Too Much Wine. The gentleman will be enthusiastic to get her out of it not because he finds her irresistible but because he’s trying not to get this image wedged in his head.

It’ll transform us into superior lovers

What’s lacking in your lovemaking cannot be bought in shops. Experience, passion and a shared understanding can’t be substituted for whispering ‘careful, you’ll rip it’ or ‘don’t ejaculate there, it’s hand-wash only’. And the items will be worn for mere minutes before he’s wedging his dick in as usual. The key difference being he won’t last as long.

I’ll get my money’s worth

Nice dream, but the demi-cup bra will soon be paired with industrial-strength period pants, while the lace knickers go unworn because she can’t risk an unexpected sneeze in anything that delicate. The only item that pays for itself it the corset with the clasps so fiddly neither of you can get it off for six hyperventilating hours.

She’ll seem as classy as a French courtesan

Effortless Gallic chic, as represented by your new chemise de nuit transparente, is not for those with a much-regretted teenage dolphin tattoo on their clavicle. That transforms the look from sultry to déchets de caravane, or trailer trash.

In fact, what she sees in the mirror is not a a concubine of Louis XVI but a perimenopausal panic-shopper who googled ‘how to reignite an eight-year relationship’ and leapt into the abyss without thinking things through. Which also describes the sex you’ll have.

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Your astrological week ahead for March 29th, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

How do you solve a problem like Maria? ADHD meds.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Announcement for artists planning to paint a picture of spring blossom: don’t bother. It’s been done.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

I don’t know much about this Assisted Dying Bill but he doesn’t sound like a nice bloke.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

Multiple criminals have escaped justice by saying that they want their final meal to be a large Toblerone purchased from a ferry leaving British waters.

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

“I’m out of here for the weekend, if you need me, just ring 999.”

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

Watching Adolescence with your son to share a cross-generational learning experience, you nudge him and say ‘That’s Asher D. From So Solid Crew.’

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

For sale: Chekhov’s gun, never used.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

Ofwat? No, I’m afraid I work for Oftwat. And you’ve fallen under our purview.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

This clock design is timeless. Which is to say f**king useless.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Daffodils out and about at last. Never see the idle f**kers putting a shift in any other time of year, do you?

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

In the sequel to 1984, there’s a Little Brother who kicks Winston Smith’s shins.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

“Come on, man, you believe life has any meaning or value whatsoever? Be nihilistic.”