For many years, from college through my 30’s, I paid a lot of attention to my undergarments. They were as much a part of my daily ensemble as picking out the right blouse or jewelry. Victoria Secret was my jam. Like many young women, I had lovely sets of lingerie ranging from sweet to naughty. I had bras and panties that matched each other and ranged from cute to sexy.
As much as men would like to believe we wear fun under-things for them, that’s not really the case. (Sorry guys!) Sure, a happy coincidence to be wearing something fabulous when the moment is right, but really it is more about making ourselves feel special. I loved checking out new styles and picking out lovely items to wear.
Then something changed. Over the past few years, the collection in my bureau drawers has somehow morphed into something….boring. And although I have not reached the give-up point of granny panties, I seem to have moved from lacy and strappy to full coverage and comfy. It happened so gradually that I didn’t really notice the change. Until recently. A few weeks ago, while trying on new clothes, my BFF caught sight of my panties and was aghast. She asked me how my husband ever wanted to be intimate with me when I wore something so hideous. Ok, so I hadn’t planned for clothing shopping, and I happened to have on an old pair that had somehow been through the wash with something dark that errantly stained them a bizarre mix of yellowish-gray. And they were kind of baggy. Not my best look. Then the other day when I went to use the rest room I realized the panties I had on had small holes in them from over-use and over-washing. Hmmmm, I see a trend here.
As for the top half, well, gone are the fun bright colors and lace. My bra collection consists of beige for under light clothes, black and navy for under dark clothes, and a couple patterned ones for the days I’m feeling wild and crazy. And they are nothing special structurally. One of my friends recently went and had herself measured and fitted and she invested in very good bras. I say invested, because that’s what it really takes to have the perfect fit, and to have something that puts the girls back to where they are supposed to be. I know I should take the time, and the funds, to do what she did. After all, some anti-gravity support is important at my age. Yet somehow I never seem to fit it into my schedule, and I end up doing what so many of us do… grab something off the rack at Kohl’s for 20% off, with just a few basic requirements: a modicum of support, enough padding to hide our cold weather detectors, enough structure to avoid the side pudge sneak-out, and a quality that will hold up at least for a few months. Comfort isn’t even much of a consideration, because we are all so used to desperately ripping the garment off our bodies at the end of the day. My friend with the good bras can probably wear hers comfortably for 24 hours at a time, and rest assured they will still look great years from now. I have another BFF who prided herself in always having matched top & bottom sets, and I’m betting she still does. I’m impressed. I gave up matching somewhere along the time my son was born.
Interestingly, a similar shift has happened with my shoes. It used to be that the higher and funkier the shoe, the better. I happily paraded around on anything that would make me 3, 4, even 5 inches taller. Bright colors, awesome patterns, unique designs – all part of my collection. I remember shoe shopping and showing a friend one particularly awesome pair, and she asked me if they came with a free pole. Ah yes, those were the days. Now, even though my love affair with shoes has not waned, and never will, I have gradually moved to cute and comfortable over tall and sexy. This is partly because I work in a business-casual environment, but mostly because…. well…. I don’t know. Because I have boring underwear. And the two are somehow related.
Luckily, my husband, bless his heart, hasn’t seemed to notice this change. Or if he has, he is kind enough not to comment. I’m sure there are days he wishes the me of 20 years ago would greet him at the door in a teddie, but really – that only happens in the movies now, right? He’s much more apt to see me dressed in the dreaded yoga pants and baggy T-shirt. But that’s ok, because he’s likely in his dirty stained workshop clothes too. It’s what is on the inside that counts.
As we get older and busier, comfort becomes more and more important. We don’t have the patience for fussy and impractical. For those of us in long-term relationships, we start to cut corners with the things that don’t seem to matter as much so we can devote our attention to the things that do, because we are not trying so hard every day to impress each other. And honestly, I’d rather spend the day being active and having fun with work, family and friends than spend the day trying to keep a lace push-up in place, deal with the constant wedgy of a thong, or limp from a blister developing on my foot.
All that said, my BFF and I do have a “don’t let each other give up” promise. There’s only so far we’ll let each other go to the dark side of not caring how we look. So in a nod to that code of friendship, I think I’ll take some time to do a clean out of my bureau drawer. Say good bye to the torn, the stained, the stretched out, the ugly, and take myself on a shopping date like I used to when I was younger. You know, actually browse new styles and designs. Buy something other than beige and black. Add a bit more spice back into my bureau drawer, a pep to my step, and a bit more lift to the girls.
No one else will notice. But I will.
My husband is mystified by the quantity and variety of bags, totes and purses I own and use. More to the point, he doesn’t understand how or why I could ever possibly need more. Silly man, it is not a matter of need. Of course any of us R.W’s could live with one purse and one tote bag…and a few of those re-useable grocery bags…and one dressier clutch…and one beach bag…and….oh, ok, maybe it wouldn’t be so easy.
I grew up in the days when 4-H was a thing. It still is a thing, a very good thing, but you just don’t hear as much about it in most communities any more. Or perhaps I’m just out of the loop. The last time I attended a county fair and saw a few girls sitting at a 4-H booth, I chatted with them and told them how I was a member from age 8 through my teens. They shyly and politely smiled at me and no doubt thought “wow, that must have been a really long time ago.” I decided against reciting the 4-H Pledge to them which to this day in still ingrained in my head. I didn’t want to become that creepy old lady who hung out too long.
This morning my dog was bugging me to go for a walk. Yes, really, he knows how to communicate this to me quite clearly. What can I say, he has me well trained. I did have a few things I was planning to get done before heading to work. But it was a beautiful morning, and it would be too hot to walk later, so off we went. He even pulled me in the direction of one of our longer loops, thus ensuring that nothing on my To Do list would get done before I had to get ready for my work day.
We are enthralled with, and laugh at, our pets’ habits. They thrive on routine. Whether it is a donkey who wants to be greeted with a scratch behind his right ear, a dog who waits by the window when he knows it is time for the human to come home, a cat who demands just the right amount of water to be poured into the bathroom sink every morning, or a pup who refuses to walk on the other side of the road, their routines are cute, amusing – and sometimes – frustrating. Aren’t they funny critters?
Yee-Gads. Enough already. So much daily doom and gloom, it is exhausting and sickening. We can’t escape being bombarded with fear-inducing, anger-generating news every day. Questionable leadership, threats of war, climate change, the destruction of our earth, heroin epidemics, terrorism, racism, poverty, you name it, we have become a nation obsessed with drama and extremism. We fear for the world our kids are growing up in, and even worse, our kids never escape the messages we are sending either. And it is taking its toll, certainly. We hear far too much about drug addiction, suicide, depression – so much so that we fear that is the new norm. But is it?
I anticipate that some day, in my more advanced years, I’m going to reach a point where I no longer worry about what I eat, what I say, and whether or not I’m trendy. My dream is to be that happy old lady who pedals around on her wide-tired bicycle with a basket on the front with my little dog along for the ride, a big floppy hat on my head, stopping to buy a big fattening chocolate muffin to then sit in the sun and watch the world go by while I chat with my equally eccentric old girlfriends. Hey, you never know. In a perfect world, it could happen.
It is the epitome of a First World Problem, and I am embarrassed and feel guilty for even admitting it. But Lord knows I’ve embarrassed myself before with this blog, and I know I’m not totally alone with this confession. Ok, here it is: my closet is crammed too full of clothes. Even worse, probably at least a quarter of them I don’t wear.
There has been a lot of discussion lately about a certain Pepsi ad featuring Kendall Jenner. In some agency room somewhere, an idea was born and went through all of the expense and effort of concepting, scripting, storyboarding, casting, shooting, editing, and finally airing – only to be castrated by the public.
Clairol offered a variety of appliances to “turn her on.” Nope, nothing gross about that.
Ah, and good ol’ Madge. Giving women mani’s by soaking their unsuspecting hands in dish soap. Because, you know, we spend so many hours stuck home doing dishes, we should be thankful that the soap won’t dry out our hands.
This one shows how we used to think it was cute to let our children burn to a crisp in the sun. Oh, don’t worry, it will just turn in to a nifty tan. Skin cancer? What’s that?
her face and she will follow you anywhere? This one is bad in so many ways. How about blow smoke in her face and get slapped in your face in return? Or blow smoke in her face and take years off her life? Oh, so very bad.
I started my day Friday morning doing something none of us Real Women look forward to doing: Making pancakes. Not in a fry pan. In a mammogram machine.
Real Women 