I don’t know about you but that totally passed me by. National Underwear Day was apparently held on 5 August 2011. It must have been a low key event. I didn’t celebrate the day with any special underwear of my own but neither did I see any evidence that my neighbours were marking the occasion. Apparently it was a day when I should have been asking myself whether I have the right shapewear or whether I should dump those knickers with the dodgy elastic. Oh well, there’s always next year.
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Don’t laugh. Women readers will know only too well that magic knickers are ridiculously expensive. And the trouble with them is that once you start factoring them into your purchasing decisions - “That dress will be fine if I wear my magic knickers with it”, “I’ll be able to zip up those jeans when I’m wearing my magic knickers” – it becomes practically impossible to leave the house without them. Let me define ‘expensive’. The ones I am talking about cost roughly 45 euro. In their favour, they are long enough to tuck into your bra which deals with unsighly bulges around the waist, and the legs are cut in such a way that they do not unnecessarily restrict circulation to the lower extremities. Of course they require hand washing so they tend to linger near the bottom of the laundry basket for days at a time until an urgent engagement requires that they be washed and aired and ready to take Madam out on the town once more. Imagine my despair, therefore, when I couldn’t find the magic knickers last week. Where could they be? Not in the drawer with the magic slip and the suspender belt I wore once twenty years ago. Not in the airing cupboard. Not with the ironing. Not in the laundry basket. Not under the bed, in the bed, or anywhere near the bed, not surprisingly. So where? Three days of sporadic searching failed to unearth them. Reluctantly I accepted their loss and set about replacing them. Now, 45 euro poorer, I have a new pair that sadly – like the rest of the nation – appear to have suffered cutbacks and no longer stretch to meet the bra. Still, they do the essential task and I am glad to have them Will the old ones turn up? Of course they will. Where? In the side pocket of the overnight bag that I had with me the last time I spent a night out on the town. That will teach me. In future, even when under the influence, I will be paying a lot more attention to where I’m stuffing my magic knickers.  What a disappointment to find yourself in Marks and Spencer, home of the knicker, and be unable to find a nice set of knickers to cheer yourself up on a grey, January day. There I was, dreaming of something in blue – with little flowers perhaps, or with candy stripes, or even with polka dots if it comes to it, but definitely cotton, definitely ‘full’ because, let’s face it, in these menopausal days you never quite know what might happen next or where or when, but pretty, please, pretty. I mean a girl is still a girl even if she’s a middle-aged girl, right? So instead of ‘full’, I had to settle for a multipack of high-leg, bikini pants like the ones illustrated here because I really couldn’t compromise on the colour. I am now the proud owner of six brand new, uncomfortable, but stripey purple pairs knickers.I wonder why they talk about a pair of knickers? I never thought about that before. Anyway, I just thought I’d share this information, in case you thought, after my recent blog posts, that I was beginning to forget all about the menopause or in case, like me, despite the onset of the fifties, you still need a bit of flirty underwear from time to time. And heck ladies, like me, you’re worth it. For days, here and elsewhere, I have been blogging about how cold it is in Ireland. It is a terrible shock to the system. Rain and wind we are used to, but this biting cold is alien. We don’t know how to walk on ice, drive on ice and we don’t have the shoes or boots or clothes for ice. Thank goodness then, that it has come after Christmas, and that among my gifts this year was a pair of Carole Hochman pyjamas (or pajamas if that is your spelling inclination). It’s a three piece ensemble with an integrated shelf bra which, to my deligh,t serves much the same purpose as the elusive sleep bra. The trousers are long enough to cover the ankles and it comes with a cardigan thing. Better still, it’s warm, and you look half way dressed in it. The only unfortunate aspect is the colour. Yes, you’ve guessed it. Still, who’s going to be looking? So, for the duration of these cold days – and particularly on the duvet days – I am more than content to be looking a lot like Santa. I can’t say for sure when my boobs started travelling south but I do know the time has come to call a halt to their journey. The question is, how? I had the brilliant idea that I’d invest in a couple of sleep bras. A sleep bra would be made of beautiful soft cotton, would provide gentle secure support without underwires or the need for hooks and eye fastenings. Ideally the boobs would stay in said bra as one tosses and turns on those hot steamy nights that seem to be a feature of the present condition if you follow my drift. And so, with a very precise idea of exactly the kind of garment I required, I began my search. Zilch. Nada. Not a thing out there that fits the bill never mind fits the boob. So, if any of you readers have the wherewithal to set up a little industry, I may have found a gap in the market. In the meantime, I’ve purchased a couple of temporary fixes that appear to be having absolutely no affect on the underlying condition. |
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