“I don’t like underwear full stop,” says Emma Thompson. She continues, “I stopped wearing underwear a long time ago. It’s not my scene. I don’t like comfortable underwear. I find comfortable underwear uncomfortable.” The words speak to the soul and I cry out, “Where my girls at?”
That’s a lie. I eschew speaking in less than full sentences, but the thought flew through my head. Finally, a woman of a certain age, speaking the truth.
Have we not loved this woman since the days of Sense and Sensibility when Hugh Grant’s Edward said he had not married and professed love in answer to her escaped sobs. She wrapped herself in an even more endearing package in Love Actually as the woman who makes a home and tells her cheating husband, “You’ve not just made a fool of yourself. You made the life I lead foolish as well.”
To think in these moments she’s not wearing granny panties, bikinis, thongs, lacy bits or the like is a form of kinship, the kind formed over common hatred. No stronger bond exists.
Last week, alone in the office elevator, I feel the familiar panty creep under trousers. A firm tug emploring them to cover the entirety of my derriere and I wonder, “Are there cameras in here?” I imagine the IT team treated to my indignity despite my pearls.
Wear a thong, cry panty makers. Thongs come to the rescue only if one plans to stand all day. Sit for a long period and find that strip of cloth hiding where it shouldn’t. Even harder to pull that one out.
Undergarment hatred is not confined to nether regions. If breasts would only meet me halfway between stomach and neck, I’d go braless. Alas, using them for their intended purpose (sorry gentlemen) sends the girls southbound and down, demanding proper support at all times.
Perhaps beautiful and lacy will help. Lacy is itchy. Beautiful is unsupportive enough to find one of the girls escaping and running for the hills. Boy shorts are for boys and granny panties make a girl feel more granny than any grandchild ever could. Underthing makers, you have failed us.
So what’s an old girl to do? The answer seems easy enough. Whatever she wants. We are far too old to put up with your shit. And that goes double for you, underpants. We’ll just add it to the list of stuff we’re no longer willing to tolerate in silence.
Things like cutting our hair ‘cuz we’re over a certain age, not voicing our opinions, painting our nails and lips red, flirting with strangers, hating our older bodies, being small at work meetings and letting others dictate what we should or shouldn’t be doing. Don’t need your advice–been alive a long time.
Getting a little cranky today. I must be wearing underwear. Pfft.