Unmentionables

It's probably very bad form to follow up a post about my grandmother with one about my lingerie. Certainly my grandmother wouldn't like that I'm taking about such intimate things. Her only conversation -- more of a directive, really -- about underwear was that you could wear whatever kind you wanted at home, but when you went out you should always wear nice ones "in case you were in an accident." I can kind of understand her rationale on that; no one wants others to see ones raggedy underwear. On the other hand, if I were in any kind of accident that required people to see my drawers, I'd probably have bigger concerns.

Anyway, I pulled out a bin of clothes from my garage. My intention was to sort through what I might want to hang onto and donate the rest to Goodwill. I unexpectedly hit the motherlode of lingerie. Before I gained weight, I had the most beautiful bras and panties, and I didn't save them for special occasions. Well, I didn't save most of them for special occasions. A few weren't practical for daily wear. But I enjoyed wearing the others under my normal clothes to work. There was just something empowering and naughty about dressing like a schoolteacher (or at least my version of that) with gorgeous pastel lace underthings. Perhaps the most lovely is the white satin bustier with tiny rhinestones around the bodice, and matching string bikini. I felt a pang of sadness as I stuffed these items into the Goodwill bag. I saved one or two matching sets, but most of them will never fit again. Some I've never even worn.

As I send these off into the world, I'm hoping two things, one selfish and one not. The first is that someday I will find clothes that make me feel that way again, and the second is that whomever they end up with will enjoy them as much as I did, even if it's just in looking at them and touching the fine fabric.