Saturday, late afternoon. I am folding laundry fresh from the dryer. I pick up a pair of my underwear, the ones I wore under my dressy black pants. The pants are flattering but require a bit of tummy control. Hence the supersized, steel-fiber enforced, 9 flowing yards of material stitched into the culmination of one great big pair of--yes, brace yourself-- "granny panties."
Yuck, yuck, yuck. I triple-fold the panties into a small triangle and stuff them to the bottom of the folded laundry pile.
I pick up another pair of underwear. Much better. These are the "Hanky Panky" almost thong panties that were so popular with movie stars (I saw it on Oprah) a while back. Lacy...delicate... worthless. It's like shoving a tissue down your pants and saying you're wearing underwear. Still... if I'm ever found dead or wounded on the highway, it's my prayer I'll be found in these and not the Target granimals knock-off underwear also to be found in my drawer.
Men have no idea of the complexities involved in women's underwear. They think it's all "Victoria Secret runway" stuff. Hidden panels of lycra found in our undergarments that smoosh our natural God-given womanly shape into something we hope at least vaguely resembles the starved, toothpick body of the flowing blonde-haired chick on this month's edition of Cosmo remain a mystery to them. And we women embrace this. Have we been brainwashed, or what?
Women's underwear is its own little microcosm. You can judge my mood by my underwear. Black and lacy means I feel daring and sexy. Cotton and colorful means playful and upbeat. And faded white, elastic waistband falling apart undies means the hell with it--I've given up competing in the game of life, at least for the day.
I did a quick count for this blog and I own no less than 35 pairs of underwear. Yet I swear to you, I think I wear the same 7 each week. Just like a teacher with a favorite student, we have those we favor above the rest.
I do not favor my Granny Panties and yet, they make it into the laundry hamper each week. Like the nerdy kid who sits in the back of the room, their presence and the fact that they will do the work required of them is taken for granted.
"Granny Panties Happen." Wouldn't that make a lovely bumber sticker?
Here's wishing you days of thongs and lace...