It’s Come to This

Maybe because of the pandemic, maybe because of my age and my ever-narrowing life, my mood has become increasingly dependent on my underwear. There is the okay underwear. And then there’s the ancient, large but wearable, underwear. And then there is the underwear from hopes long since dashed.

It is when I get to the last group – the underwear that might have fit the 10-year old me – that the relentless path of my life to the land of the vaguely but persistently uncomfortable becomes oh, so apparent, and tragic. So, I try to avoid that stack of Barbie-sized undies at all costs but sometimes, say, when the mister has put off doing the laundry for longer than usual, there are no options.

It was one of those days, reaching down to ‘adjust’ myself while going up the stairs, that I realized it was time to order some new underwear. So I sat down to shop the only store I use these days – Amazon – and perused all the underwear looking for what would eliminate the torment of the wee wear.

As often happens – to me if not everybody else – I over-diagnosed my problem. If your underwear is too small and bugging you, Jan, then get bigger underwear! So, after years of resisting moving to the next size, okay, let’s say it, from a Size 9 to a 10 (and really you would never guess I’ve been wearing a 9 since, never mind), I ordered up six pairs of Size 10 underwear.

They were delivered yesterday.

I took them out of the package this morning. The first pair in the pack was white. I held them up. Oh my god, I thought, these are my grandma’s underpants! I remember them hanging on the clothesline in her backyard, huge white banners, old lady flags in the Michigan breeze. But that’s okay, I thought, I’m a grandma. This is what happens next. You got your pandemic, your pandemic gray and uncut hair, your three-jean rotation, and your selection of various ‘lack of definition’ tops and now underwear that can fit you and a purse and lunchbox you might want to hide from strangers.

“Give them to Goodwill,” my husband says.

“YOU CAN”T GIVE UNDERWEAR TO GOODWILL!”

“Well, send them back.”

I am incredulous at this. That he has no conception of what it would take to send five pairs of underwear (I decided to wear the white pair) back to Amazon. Jesus. Sending the underwear back to Amazon would have to become my life’s work for the next month. He doesn’t know. He never orders anything. Of course he doesn’t, I bought all his underwear for him. I don’t resent that, it just makes him more dear.

So I am alone with my underpants. I don’t expect anyone to understand. I have only myself to blame.

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Photo by Patrick Kool on Unsplash