The skeletons in the underwear drawer
Glenwood Springs, CO Colorado
“Why do you have your underwear strewn all over the bed?” Husband-Head wanted to know when he walked into our bedroom on a recent Saturday morning. “Are we having a hard time trying to decide which pair to wear?”
I looked at the assortment of undergarments in every color, shape and size.
“No, I just thought I’d clean out the drawer since I can barely close it anymore and get rid of some of this stuff that I’ve had for a long time. There are things in here that I don’t even remember BUYING, never mind wearing.”
Husband-Head walked over and picked up a skimpy little black lace number.
“I vote that these get to stay,” he suggested. “How come you don’t prance around the house in these?”
I ignored the comment and picked up several pairs of thong underwear and stared at them in horror. “What are those doing here?” Husband-Head said with a laugh. “You HATE thong underwear! You’ve written entire columns about how much you hate thong underwear.”
It was true.
Yet there sat a bunch of thong underwear in all sorts of colors ” some looking way more uncomfortable than others.
“I did not buy these,” I insisted. “Somebody must have planted them there. Thong underwear is unsanitary. Nobody should have something imbedded in that area of their body for any lengthy periods of time unless it is something your physician is using to perform a colonoscopy.”
I have never understood how someone could sit at work all day long with a string located smack dab in the middle of their gluteus maximus and be able to concentrate on their work. To me, that would be like walking around all day with dental floss stuck between your two front teeth. …
Husband-Head then started to laugh really hard.
“And where did THESE come from?” he wanted to know, holding up a pair of large white granny panties.
“I didn’t buy those, either,” I defended myself. “I think my mother gave those to me.”
Then I remembered when she did.
“These are the kind of undergarments that nice, God-fearing, middle-aged women wear,” she had said, handing me a package of three. “They’re sturdy and conservative.” It looked to me like the kind of panties that would get a middle-aged woman divorced. …
Still laughing, Husband-Head put the granny panties on his head.
“Look! Anything can be a hat!”
I grabbed the cotton briefs off his head and put them into the “getting rid of” pile along with the thongs.
Meanwhile, Husband-Head continued to have a hoot with my underwear drawer.
He picked up a brassiere.
“I’ve rarely seen you even wear one of these, but what’s going on with this one?” he said, holding it up by the strap. “It looks like those pudding cups I eat at lunch.”
“Oh, that’s one of those gel-filled cup bras that I bought from Victoria Secret,” I said. “But I never wore it because I was always afraid the cup would burst and I’d look like I was lactating and had a leak.”
He then proceeded to go through the rest of the brassieres that included padded bras, sports bras, underwire bras and sheer cotton bras ” all in a variety of colors including red, black, white, pink, beige and animal print ” and all from Victoria’s Secret.
“Do we have, like, stock in Victoria Secret?” Husband-Head said curiously. “Why do you need all these?”
I cringed when he started to pick out the stockings.
“Whoo-hoo!” he cried, holding up a pair of fishnet, thigh-high hose. “Where did these come from? How come I’ve never seen them? Do you have an alter ego that I don’t know about?”
“Those are from a long time ago in my other life before I was married,” I huffed, grabbing the garments out of his hands. “A woman doesn’t wear this stuff after 15 years of marriage. Same goes for Brazilian cut and tonga-style bikini bathing suit bottoms.”
I could tell Husband-Head didn’t agree.
“OK, if you don’t like thong underwear and you don’t like granny panties, what type do you like?” he asked.
I’ll never tell. …
Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Her new book collection of columns, “Skully Says Shut It!” is available for purchase at the Post Independent or through her web site at http://www.heidirice.com.
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