Underwear…

I’ve mentioned that maybe there is a bit more jiggle to my wiggle and a few more lumps to the bumps.  It kind of bugs me.  It bugs me for a few reasons.  For one, clothes don’t “hang” well on a bump and when they cling to a lump, it throws the whole look off.

Spandex is a miracle.  How marvelous that something so simple can smooth it all out.  I understand the concept of the corset.   There is much to be said for lacing in those parts that are starting to run a bit rogue.  If only squishing all the bits and bobs didn’t give me such a headache! Lets be honest, those lumps and bumps have to go somewhere and just like when you squeeze the toothpaste, it all goes to the top.   I am vain but not that vain.  I like to be able to breathe, eat, drink and not pass out because my “squish” is “squashed”!

The lumps and bumps bug me because now my underwear doesn’t fit.  My thighs have chosen to blossom and now my underwear is too tight!  I used to love bikini but now it  slips off my rolls and digs into my belly.  What used to be so simple has now become impossibly complicated.  I’m grouchy and all I want is my underwear to fit!

My life journey can be documented by the stages of my knickers.  I no longer see any appeal in wearing dental floss and a “thong” isn’t much more!  I eased into boy shorts and then slowly to sexy and seamless but now I fear I am on the verge of the abyss.  Where do I grow to next?

I’ve been trying it all!  A larger size, a higher waist, a different blend of cotton and lace.  Anything that allowed me to breathe and not curse by mid day.   A fair penny has been spent with the hopes of my circulation not being cut off.  I just didn’t want to have to land in the beige bloomer section.  If I wear underwear the size of a parachute, it’s like I will have given up and if I give up, I might as well go all the way.  I’ll let my gray hair grow, stop plucking my chin hairs and what the hell, why bother shaving my legs.  Pantaloons is nothing more than the beginning of the end.

And just when I thought all was lost and death by lack of circulation was imminent, I found my new stage.  Enough spandex to keep things “tucked” in place, a style that kept all bits covered and if I were hit by a bus and taken to hospital, my knickers wouldn’t give the impression of collecting a seniors pension.

I have found a comfort which is kind symbolic of life.  I have often been looking for me.  My search has kept me looking here there under where.  My search for fit is taking time.  It’s quite a happy place to know my fit.  Yes, that sense of fit is sometimes fleeting but at least I have stopped pretending and can admit that dental floss is really not my fit.  It boggle my mind that I paid good money for three strings that were held together by a thread.

Anna Quindlen, who is about the greatest author there ever was, described aging as lineage on a laundry line. The bright pink panties that a toddler wears with glee that is quickly followed by fun cotton prints.  There is a stretch of raucous and cotton slowly fades to near nothing but grows back to that thing called a thong and then eases into boy shorts or comfortable bikini.  There is a flash of hipster and the glamour of french cut but inevitably, seamless is sexy and control briefs sublime. Imagine it all, that long line of glorious garb, swinging in the wind on the line.  The ages and stages, flapping like colorful flags.  Oh what a life.

Yes, I want to fit my life.  I find I am happy in cotton and sexy is breathing without fear of fainting.  A higher waist ensures a firmer fit.  It’s knowing what works and what brings comfort and form.  But when adventure calls and courage is needed, I will search under there for a fabulous pair of underwear!