Well I think it’s time to accept that age has engulfed me.
Today I have decided (a) I need to spend more money on my undies and (b) comfort is more important than anything when it comes to underwear. (We tackle the big issues here at Shambolic Living.)
The $5 for a pack of four briefs from the bargain bins at the chain stores just aren’t up to the job any more.
I’m tired of wedgies, visible panty lines, and undies that fail to contain the plump tummy (note not using the word fat here).
I have measured out my life in knickers. From the childhood Tweety Bird underpants (and yes you pressed the bird and it made a noise), to the lacy lingerie of the courting years, to the el cheapo briefs of motherhood to the now sad realisation that grandma knickers are the way of my future.
My undies grow smaller through each drying cycle (because somehow I always manage to leave myself short of underwear after days of endless washing that sees everybody else in the family clad in clean and dry undergarments – hence the emergency wash/dryer loop of my workday morning). They don’t call it intimate apparel for nothing folks, as they shrink I find myself having to retrieve them with increasing regularity from personal spaces of my anatomy.
Today I’ve decided no more. I’m going for comfort and copious amounts of material that cannot possibly wedge itself into crevices best never explored.
It’s unusual for me to consider my underwear without it involving a hospital visit or a shared-room overnight conference. Why is it that I put up with unattractive, uncomfortable undergarments until the moment when I fear that someone might accidentally get a glimpse of what I’ve been hiding?
Not this time, I’m heading to the shops to the expensive and expansive section. From mid-section to tail I will be clad. Most likely white or nude coloured, it will be the sort of underwear that my Grandmother would have considered acceptable in the event of an accident. You know when emergency personnel are madly trying to revive your lifeless body the state of your knickers is always of serious concern don’t you?
Comfort all the way, middle age here I am.