How does sexy go again?

Lingerie manufacturers want you to think that they have got the market cornered on being sexy--that you are magically granted magic thong powers when you snap that string into place, and you become a goddess of love, with great and glorious power over all sexual organs within your provenance. Which would be nice if it were entirely true, and if that was the entirety of the secret.

I wish it were as easy as lingerie, that cute underpants could solve everything, because this past almost-a-week, I have not felt sexy at all. I have felt more or less on the far bank from sexy. Sexy is sunning itself on one side of the tracks, in its condo's private rooftop garden in the expensive neighborhood with all the Rottweilers on Coach leashes, and I'm asking for spare change over here in the dark and tragic unsexy side of town, scratching my open lesions and wonder what, exactly, it is like to be loved. If I were to approach it, it would shriek Masher! and beat me away with its purse and then mace me for good measure.