The Spring Purge

On a cloudy day last week, I conducted my annual spring clothing purge following the theory that if you haven't worn it for a year, then it probably needs the boot. Also, I hadn't bought a bit since last December when we learned of our move to Memphis and I was itching for a shopping spree. I had a closet full of consulting clothes and a dearth of casual togs to survive the Memphis hot summer. However, I never got to my closet. When I opened the drawers of my dresser to sort through the folded clothes first, I was faced with a shocking dilemma - Does my lingerie define my character or does my character define what kind of lingerie I wear?

In either case, the evidence was embarrassingly and depressingly heartbreaking. My underwear had aged, but, unlike, wine, it did not get better as it ripened. Nor, was there a piece of lace or high cut pantie to be found. You'd have thought I had cornered the market on sensible garments. There wasn't an intimate thing about them. I could stand in traffic in just my underwear and no one would blink an eye. It was the underwear of a 60 year old woman. It was all so practical, so form contouring, so disgustingly boring and so gray and beige!

• What had I become?
• What happened to the woman who refused to even wear underwear for a time in the 70's?
• How did I let this happen? Does contentment breed bad underwear choices?
• Where was the woman who lusted throughout her 30's and 40's in little lace things?
• This wasn't about being pure and simple, it was about being monotonous and plain.

After taking several deep breaths with my head between my legs to stop hyperventilating, I pulled each droopy bra and pantie out of the drawer and flung them all into the wastebasket. If my lingerie defined my character, then I was in very deep trouble, indeed.

I sat down to scrutinize the situation.

With today's fabrics, women's underwear actually not wear out. It grays and sometimes fades, but refuses to disintegrate. Where are the good ol' days of cotton and rubber band elastic? When the elastic went, those thin little rubber strings broke and stuck out all around my waist, legs and back. I knew when it was time and I felt totally justified replacing those broken unmentionables. But, today, I can wear the same underwear for years and it still functions, even when the white has grayed and the colors have faded. The wonders of technology have struck at the heart of my lingerie shopping guilt mantra -- don't buy unless you really need it.

The other issue, of course, was my choice of style. My ten hour days, running regimen and constant road trips for work, left me with little time to contemplate the style of my undergarments. The few pounds I've gained over the last 10 years didn't enhance underwear selection either. I didn't want anything that might ride up to give me a wedgie in the middle of a meeting with 20 other people. I opted for comfort and that meant my lingerie evolved to be practical and devoid of character.

So, the verdict was clear as I stood there in front of the mirror in my last droopy beige bra and waist hugging grayed white jockey panties -- I was becoming my underwear. It was take back control or die! I declared war. I may be sixty, but I"m not dead yet. I want my character to define my underwear, not vise versa.

My attack centered on Macy's intimate apparel department at Oak Court. With the vengeance of a Ninja, I scoured the racks and tables for the most colorful, lacy and well cut undergarments. Armed with dozens of bras and panties, I then marched into the dressing room swearing to conquer the lingerie enemy.

Two hours later, exhausted and flush from stepping into and adjusting so many little items, the battle was won, if not the war. I now have a collection of lingerie that lets me look like I feel inside - an attractive, if a slightly wrinkled, woman. The battle was not without costs. I discovered that the older I get, the more lift I need. That means I've got to spend lots more money on bras if I'm going to keep my boobies from hanging down to my waistline. But, Macy's was having a sale that weekend, so I came off the battlefield with my credit card intact.

There was one casualty...thongs. They're just a little too erotic for this ol' body. I leave them to the younger generation.