I didn’t go out yesterday with the intention of going lingerie shopping. To be honest, I rarely go out with the intention of lingerie shopping. I equate it with going to the dentist or buying shoes; aggravating, uncomfortable, a little soul-sucking but necessary. I can never find exactly what I want, and when on the rare occasion I find something close to what I want and find it in my size, well, it never fits me or looks quite the way I think it should. I tend to stick with what works with little deviation over the last decade or two. My underwear drawer is filled with black cotton thongs (don’t judge, they’re the best undies for motorcycling in as they prevent monkey-butt) and one or two black cotton bras that I replace only when the underwire has finally had enough, snaps and tries to pierce the flesh it’s supposed to support, usually in the middle of a class or a crowd for some reason.
I didn’t use to have such a utilitarian view on underthings. There’s another dresser drawer that contains memories I can’t bear to get rid of; a corset or two, garters & stockings, a leather bra from Northbound. There’s also a pink leopard print push-up bra that I bought on an impulse but have only worn twice, as it’s certainly not an everyday kind of bra according to my middle-aged WASP sensibilities.
“my middle-aged WASP sensibilities”. What the hell? I cannot believe I just wrote that. When the fuck did that happen? When did I turn into my mother? Probably around the time I let myself become bored and unhappy, I guess.
But I digress.
While walking to the car from Best Buy yesterday, I noticed that La Senza (Canada’s version of Victoria’s Secret) had big 50% off signs plastered all over its window so I ducked in on impulse while Keith went on to Home Depot. I walked out a half-hour later with a big grin on my face, clutching one of their large shopping bags filled with tissue-wrapped lovelies.
What happened between entering and leaving the store was neither aggravating or soul-sucking. I went in with no idea of what I wanted, and so was not disappointed when I didn’t find it. Everything in the store fits me now, a glorious side-effect of having to lose weight so I can walk pain-free.
I went a little nuts. I believe the word I’m looking for is binge. And there is nothing in the bag that’s black; lots of purple and blue and red and jungle prints and stripes. There’s cotton, but there’s lace and ribbons too. I did something I have never done, and went a little matchy-matchy.
I know they’re not going to look how I want them to look – I don’t inhabit anything close to a supermodel’s body after all and have about another 20lbs to go before I even get back what I think of as my body. And I know they’re not going to be as mindlessly comfortable as the black cotton. There’s no one going to see them and take delight in them but me.
But fuck it. I really like how they make me feel.