underwear post

Oh, yeah, give the audience what they want, and I haven't done one in a while, have I?

Recently, I've been obsessed with (and failing miserably at) finding two particular undergarments, either online somewhere that doesn't charge outrageous shipping charges, or preferably in a brick-n-mortar store. One is a ridiculously expensive Hanky Panky cami from the Garnet Hill catalog that I just inexplicably love, with emphasis on the ridiculously and the inexplicably. The second is (what was apparently) a limited edition color of my favoritest bra.

Let me pause to say that, also recently, I have been relentlessly mocked--relentlessly, I tell you!--because there are only certain specific undergarments that I'll wear when they are going to be glimpsed, ahem, by someone else. It has been suggested to me that this is very, very silly, since glimpsing quickly proceeds to divesting. Well, I'm sorry, but I think they need to look pretty for the fifteen seconds before they hit the floor, and if they look pretty just lying there in a heap, all the better. No, seriously, it's much more about how the cute underwear makes me feel than really their aesthetic appeal to anyone viewing. Perhaps that's something that people with a Y chromosome (and some people with two Xs) can't fully appreciate.

So! Yeah! I just want these two phantom undergarments because I think they're going to make me feel adorable for no really good reason. And having spent parts of three days perusing all the high-end online lingerie purveyors, though to no avail, I both have a new appreciation of the Hanky Panky company's wares and an explanation for something that had me perplexed a few months ago.

I'm not sure exactly why I didn't blog about this when it happened, because it was really funny, but I must have been obsessed with something else at the time. Anyway, during one of the times I went soaking this fall, I somehow managed to drop my underwear somewhere between the bathroom and the tub room. And since when I was changing out of my bathing suit to get redressed, I didn't remember that I had still had my underwear on under my robe when I had gone to the bathroom, I was convinced I'd lost them in the actual tub room. Which, the room being like eight feet by eight feet, didn't seem possible, barring actual wormholes or rips in the space/time continuum. Be that as it may, I dressed without them and prepared to leave.

Then, at the front desk, as I paid, the woman sort of dropped her voice a notch and asked tentatively, "You aren't missing anything, are you?" Why, yes. She takes a plastic bag from the lost-and-found shelf and hands it to me. On the outside it is marked, no lie, "expensive woman's underwear." Oh, we laughed and laughed. My friend asked me if they were actually expensive, and I was like, uh, no, seven bucks at the Gap.

But now I know! My seven buck Gap underwear is a direct knockoff of these: http://tinyurl.com/yrqam5 and if you didn't look at the tag...

And I *suppose* people who lose their $32 underpants at the hydrospa/massage therapy place would be really motivated to come back and claim them from lost and found, rather than just trust in the wormhole theory, huh?

Anyway? Point? I should really, really read a book.

xoxo