I just finished unloading the dryer and sorting out the wash therein, including a prized shirt that was crumpled up in a sheet and that I’ll have to either run through the dryer again (the easy way) or actually iron (the hard way).
Dealing with the laundry is one of those challenging tasks you get to deal with when you are retired and, hey, that’s why I put in the hard slog many years ago to get that coveted degree, and all the other training I received through time.
The laundry. Well, we human beings are dirty beasts and we created laundry that needs must be laundered.
So, having dealt with the Kafkaesque horrors of the fitted sheet I got down to the nitty-gritty and that was sorting out the 30,000 (or so it seemed) pairs of underpants – mine and hers. And, why ‘pairs’ of underpants? It’s a single garment. There aren’t ‘two’ of anything but leg holes. But shirts have armholes to the tune of two and we don’t refer to a ‘pair of shirts’.
Anyway, underpants. An item with which to conjure. The fact that we need them is kind of obvious and if you need it explained I am not about to go there just so I keep this screed moderately in the realm of good decorum.
As for me I tend to favor good old jockey-shorts. Aren’t you happy I shared that? Jockey-shorts, or Y-fronts for those overseas, work better for me than boxers and I am not about to share the reason therein either. I just know what works.
So, males don’t have a great many options when it comes to a nether garment. Jockies or boxers, and that is about it.
Women, however, have an entire world of fabrics, designs, sizes and not to mention, names for the item. Panties (I favor that one, though apparently some women do not for reasons best known to them, but I suspect the critics of the term are women who like to take the fun out of life; also knickers, unmentionables, just plain old underpants, and so forth.
And women’s vary from the tiny dental floss strips up your bum of thongs, to great big Victorian type knickers all silky and lacy, and finally to the ubiquitous ‘granny panties’ of Bridget Jones fame, and with all their functionality. Frankly I am not a critic of the GP because I can appreciate their functionality and they can be attractive in their own way.
Underpants don’t go back very far in history. In the day when women wore great commodious skirts with bustles and all, underpants of any kind would have been a huge impediment when an urgent need to answer nature’s call struck. Without an underpants impediment even the most refined lady could part her legs and let go.
Queen Victoria wore underpants, however. I saw them at the Victoria-and-Albert Museum (pictured). They were huge, grievously unsexy and (ahem) crotchless. Even a royal, apparently, needs to pee once in a while.
I first became fully aware of the female nether garment when I was a little boy of about 8. The girl across the street (of the same age) was very rich. And she wore very fancy rich little girl undies. And she took pleasure in hiking her skirt and showing them to me. Once when she did so her mother walked into the room. I was ordered to go home, though I didn’t understand why.
I think I do now.
And that is the end of my laundry saga. And the undies have all been neatly folded and put away.