From Where I’m Sitting

I shop for new underwear, oh, once every 7 or 8 years. And it shows. Some of my underwear has been through two presidential elections. And all of my pregnancies. So, you can well imagine the horrors they’ve been privy to.

There’s is typically a war erupting within the confines of my lingerie drawer. Between the haves and the have nots. The haves being the underdrawers fortunate enough to still have working elastic, and the have nots which really are to a point where they must be stapled to the intended wearer to keep them up. The intended wearer would be me. The have nots always seem to keep working their way up to the front of the drawer, keeping the haves far back in the bowels, rarely seeing the light of day. A pitiful display of arrogance and selfishness.

But all has been quiet in my underwear drawer as of late. Every pair is on equal footing. There isn’t a shred of elastic to be found anywhere.

Therefore, it was time to go to the underwear store.

Also known as Ross.

So, yesterday I announced to the girls, “grab your shoes, we’re going to go shopping for underwear for mommy.” After a few moans and groans, they got into the spirit of the adventure. We perused the craft store, which I wrote about yesterday. The craft store is located next to Ross. While in the craft store, Cailey must have gotten a little bit bored, because she announced rather audibly, “MOM, let’s just go to the underwear store and get it over with.” Emme attempted to hide beneath a display, until I reminded her that when she was 4, every time we entered Ross she would announce to the patrons, “THIS IS MOMMY’S UNDERWEAR STORE!”

A proud parenting moment.

We finally found ourselves in Ross, heading back to the two double tiered racks of underdrawers, all separated by size, sandwiched in an impossibly narrow aisle. We weren’t the only customers shopping for underwear, as we had to jockey for position.

It occurred to me that shopping for underwear is what separates the men from the women. You never see a group of men slowly examining every single garment in the men’s underwear aisle at Wal Mart, carefully feeling the texture and reading the labels. In fact, men don’t even slow down when they are shopping for underwear. They grab the package they want, throw it in the cart, and carry on without even breaking stride. Their choices are more limited, though. Boxers or briefs. White, or not white. And their sizes are rather uniform. Yawn.

Women on the other hand have a number of decisions to make. Cotton versus polyester. Bikini, brief, hipster, thong (I don’t even want to discuss this one), boy cut, high rise, or low rise. And oh my, the variety of colors to chose from! The sizes are never uniform. What is tagged “Large” in one brand, means “this size will cut off your circulation if you sit down” in another.

When my girls and I finally found ourselves in the best position next to my actual size (which I will not be divulging), we began the hunt. I’m very specific about what I’m looking for. Durability is key, since I likely won’t be replacing them for awhile. Cailey held up a black lace number in a size “HUGE” with little red bows on the front, “ooohhh”, she exclaimed, “these are pretty.”

She’s use to pink floral Hanes Her Way, so the black lace would be a change. “Um, no, let’s keep looking.” Emme, was a bit more practical as she pulled out all of the underdrawers that could double as a parachute, if needed.

Finally, I netted myself 5 brand new pair of sensible underwear. We paid for our purchase and on our way out the door, Cailey called “Goodbye, underwear store!”

Indeed. We’ll see you in another 7 or 8 years.