Mimi's 44th DOB Undies W/OMar 17 '04 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line Remember to put on clean underwear when you go out! Ya never know. Another write off I can’t resist – not because I am thrilled by anybody’s underwear, but because sweet Mimi Emailed me an invitation – and I just can’t turn her down. I cannot imagine anyone being thrilled by the underwear of a woman who is in her eighties. Think white cotton. Think boring. When I first started wearing cotton panties (in the fifties, I believe) I picked them up for 37 cents a pair at the five and ten cent store. Now the same panties run about two dollars a piece at a bargain rate. I just watched Julie Roberts in Sleeping with the Enemy on TV tonight. Now her underwear was slick and beautiful and screamed Victoria’s secret. Did it Julie any good? No – it did not. Not that I don’t admire the designs on the taut bodies that are displayed on TV. However, not everyone has the kind of figure that adapts to Victoria – but I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What amazes me are the pretty young women that will buy birth control pills with one hand and Victoria’s secret with the other. Come on, girls, make up your mind. If I were a guy – which I am not – I think I would be more likely to fantasize about Bad Kitty sleeping in the buff with her tattoos, but then what do I know. I am a great grandma in her eighties who hasn’t a clue about what goes on in the minds of males – although reading my friends Haggis and the 29th give me subjects to ponder on. And bras – I never paid more then $2.98 for a bra in my life until recently when my daughter purchased a couple of bras for me at the cost of about thirty dollars apiece. I admit they are comfortable, but for that kind of money they should have been stitched with golden thread softened by angel dust. Another thing that sort of amazes me is when I see Victoria’s Secret underpants on my little granddaughters and great granddaughters. Why is that? And what kind of message is it imparting? Now here goes – take a deep breath, children, ‘cause Grannie is going to bore you with a “way back when” story. When I was about 8 or 9 years old and living in South Dakota, I had to walk about a mile and a half to school – on a road without a sidewalk South Dakota blizzards pile the snow deep. Some of the girls had snow suits, and boots. I didn’t. I had to wear long underwear and galoshes. We were not allowed to wear jeans. All girls had to wear skirts to school in those days. So my mother outfitted me in long cotton undies that came down to my ankles with cotton stockings that were pulled over the underwear and secured with garters. I hated them. I think I was the only girl who had to wear them. So of course, I rolled them up, which made an interesting bump at the top of my legs. I hoped the garters would hold both the underwear and the stockings up. Of course, they didn’t. During recess the garter didn’t do its job, and both the stocking and the long underwear came flopping down my right leg. Kids at that age can be cruel – and I will always remember the chorus of “I see London, I see France, I see ‘Ginia’s underpants.” I learned an important lesson there. Even at that age I realized that if it had happened to someone else, I probably would have led the chorus: so after my own ordeal, I never made fun of the shame suffered by anyone else. Anyway, my cousin – who lived next to the school – saw my humiliation and her mother presented my mother with her outgrown snow pants so I could quit wearing the long underwear if I protested enough. Don’t get me wrong. When I was young and trim I loved lacy silk or nylon undies as much as anybody else did, and I do understand their fascination. I have been told by a couple of my friends who joined the WACs or the WAVEs that under their regulation uniforms they would wear the frilliest undertrimmings they could find as long as they could get away with it. They told me that khaki bras were issued by the army, but few of the women wore them. I guess we are supposed to mention a recent incident in this little story. Well, this is true, embarrassing, and recent – so here goes. When in Knoxville last summer we were invited by my daughter-in-law’s parents to spend an afternoon with them on their boat on one of the many lakes that surround the city. It was a wonderful day – warm but with the soft lake breezes making it delightful. I opted to wear a light knit pants suit (you know – like Tshirt material ) instead of the blue jeans that I usually wear. However, that pant suit seemed to show every unwanted bulge that I possess. So what did I do? Like a dummy, I put on a panty girdle. Well, the afternoon became long, and we all drank soft drinks and a lot of water – and it became necessary for me to visit the head. The head was below the main deck, and small. It had a huge mirror on one side of the wall. It was cleverly designed to be a shower as well . There is, of course, no air conditioning on the boat, and it was hotter then blue blazes in there. I was able to lower my girdle, but by the time I was ready to pull it up I was covered with sweat – no it wasn’t a lady-like downy type moisture – it was down to earth miserable sweat. I couldn’t get the darn thing back up. The longer it took, the more sweaty I became. I finally managed to get it half way up. The top half of the girdle was a roll that hit me midsection around the hips, but it was the best I could do. If it is embarrassing to tell about it, you can only imagine how embarrassing it was to live through it. So while the teens and the younger women were enjoying their swimming suits and shorts, Grannie wore a sweaty girdle half way up. I will never do anything so foolish again, I hope. Especially since there was a full size mirror to show me just how bizarre I looked. I still loved the water and the boat ride, though. It is amazing what they can put on the boat and can make it livable enough to spend weeks on it and to travel all the way to the ocean as the owners of the boat have done. So that is enough of my underwear review. “Bibliography of Boobolegy “– I love the boobolegy word, which I am unashamed to admit that I stole from a comment left of my daughter’s underwear review about a year ago. Happy 44th birthday, Mimi, and I hope someone gifts you with some delightfully naughty Victoria’s Secret items. Thanks for reading. Grannie-should be blushing-Mose  |
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