Red Polka Dots
Underwear is a pretty subjective issue.† A writer friend of mind once wrote about a dog chewing up some $75 panties and I stopped listening to the story there and then.† $75?† For panties?† That carries the clean-underwear-in-case-you-get-hit-by-a-car warning a bit far.
Thing is, when I was in my twenties and so hot I sizzled, I could not afford fancy silk lingerie.† And truthfully, no one needs it then.† First, twenty year olds are historically a bunch of slobs who let clothes pile up in a dormitory room for three weeks before they throw everything in one humongous oversized washer load and dry the whole mess on high.† Second, when they get the chance to make love it usually involves a heated frenzy of thrown clothes and little appreciation for quality garments.
By the time I was in my thirties, I was fat.
Not obese.† Not even really chubby.† But in my mind I was a ghastly freak better suited to a sideshow than any sort of sexual playfulness that focused on pretty panties and frisky games.† Nope.† Fat thirty-year-old women like to do it with the lights out.† And if youíre keeping score or taking notes, this season of life is the prelude to sweats and over-sized Tees.
In the forties one feels too old to be sexy.† I went out and bought those cotton panties that go all the way to the waist.† They are sensible.† And comfortable.† And since forty year olds also make love in the dark, who cares?†
But let me tell you about fifty.† Fifty looks in the mirror, pats the round tummy, leans back to appreciate the generous rear end and the cottage cheese that is the main ingredient of the upper thighs and well, smiles.† Fifty goes shopping and buys a red polka dot push up bra for breasts that, while a bit saggy, are far too ponderous to need enhancement.† Fifty buys matching red polka dot, boy-cut panties that barely cover the thinning thatch, panties that hang in a perky and saucy sort of way.†
Yup.† After all those years of denial for one reason or another, I have discovered who it is that buys high dollar underwear.† If I am ever in a car accident, my mother, god rest her soul, can be assured my panties will do her proud.† I am more coordinated under than over.† I am a goddess.† My mirror is in love with me.† And the lingerie girl at Nordstromís?† She just smiles and tosses out more commission-earning lies.†
So when you see me sauntering across a room in an oversized sweater and not tight jeans, donít underestimate me.† I may be a book with a matronly cover but I am finally back to sizzle underneath.
First published: May, 2008
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