Inside the Underwear Drawer

So I was thinking tonight that over the last couple of years I have managed to discuss an entire range of things on this blog.

Men, love, relationships, work, accessorising, hair removal, cats, dogs, horses, weight control (or lack there of) alcohol intake (or lack there of), hell, I think even my puppies have rated a mention a time or two, and I don’t mean the barking yapping kind.

But here’s something I’ve never dedicated a post to before. Underwear.

Sorry bout the left of centre idea, but my sister reminded me tonight (having learnt of my new love of aprons) that I once had a wardrobe just for my g-bangers. This is an exaggeration of course, wasn’t a wardrobe at all, was a mere cupboard / sideboard affair…. Joking.

I did once have 56 pairs of knickers though, and for the record they will actually fit into just a couple of drawers, and let’s face it, my knickers use to consist of a lot less material than they do now.

These days it’s all about the boy legs, the comfort bonds undies, or the big suck-my-tummy-in-tight versions,. I wore my big Bridget Jones undies to a wedding one night and TLOML (the love of my life remember, far out, don’t you folk pay any attention?) well the TLOML was mortified as when I sat down at one stage, my dress rode up a bit and you could see the long legged beige ‘I’m too old and fat to wear a fitted dress without this underwear’ show somewhere on my (rapidly aging and expanding) thigh.

Turns out he wasn’t embarrassed by the flash of thigh on show, poor deluded bloke still thinks they are perfectly acceptable (bless him and the horse he rode in on) but worried the world (well, anyone briefly glancing my way for around two seconds) saw that I had succumbed and wore such tasteless panties.

Actually whilst we are on the subject of knickers, does anyone else cringe when they hear the word ‘panty’. It’s wrong on so many varying levels, just because I say so.

So anyway, that was the last time I wore the Bridget Jones, after I shoe horned my way into them, which took about half an hour, I discovered it then takes an additional half hour to get them off . Needless to say, all but the most ardent lover would have given up by then, if they hadn’t have already been turned off by the mere sight.

These days I no longer have 56 pairs of knickers, I’m down to a mere 24 or so, its much more manageable, except for the fact as I mentioned, they are somewhat bulkier than the undies of my youth. In fact, in a few more years I may as well just wear a burka and be done with it. Now, moving on….

This leads me to bras. Does anyone wish to move on the bras now? I’m hoping not, cause I’m not quite ready to discuss them yet. That moment in Bras and Things where I discovered I was at least a D cup, still has me hyperventilating, nor have I worked out what to do with the numerous C Cup bras I still own, which for the record quite possibly match the underwear count.

Something I would like to know though is do men really admire underwear as much as I do? Now, TLOML is certainly a practical fella, so he doesn’t seem to even notice if it matches, has lace, cute prints, or merely holds my puppies up. (not the barking kind) On the bright side, I no longer feel the urge to stuff my drawers (the storage kind) with expensive, cutesy, pretty, seductive, or raunchy underwear.

Granted, I still have a lot of it, some fetishes never die we just merely learn to quash them down a bit, but the amount residing in there is more of a leftover from the old days and a reluctance to throw them out.

So that’s my knicker story, riveting wasn’t it?

Aprons and Hair Ribbons

It’s been brought to my attention that I’ve been a very bad blogger. It wasn’t brought to my attention nicely either, rather a friend saying “you suck since you got all in love”.

We’re mature like that, my friends and I. We talks good.

I can’t deny it though, looking through my blog I only seem to write to update on what’s been happening since I haven’t been writing to tell you about what’s been happening (keep up). So yes, slap me around cruel world, I do indeed suck!

We could blame it on the man, referred to henceforth as The Love Of My Life (TLOML even, as we all know how I love that text talk) anyway, we could blame it on him, if it was like, his fault. But it’s not your honour I swear.

I really have been still busily tapping away these past couple of years, and sometimes I even get paid for it. The fact someone is willing to part with some dollars to read my dribble still thrills me. Sadly I don’t earn enough to give up the day job, so I continue to keep that. Sometimes I even turn up.

Other times I sit on the lounge and eat Pringles but that’s a whole other story…..

But what with tapping away chasing a dollar, attending work and trying to look intelligent, renovating a house (um, can no one point out our kitchen STILL isn’t painted yet…….actually do, maybe it will hurry TLOML up to complete it..) anyway, I got slack and stopped. So blame life if anything, blame the crazy people willing to offer me money to type, cause I end up sitting here so long at the laptop trying to think of things to write about, that my brain malfunctions and I realise I have nothing left to write here.

But enough about that, what I do promise is that I’m not going to update you with what’s been going on, cause who wants to hear about the argument about what colour to paint a wall?

I will just jump in with todays thought. Which I haven’t actually thought of yet.

What did excite me today though (I’ll tell you about this whilst I try to think of a thought) what did excite me today was receiving my spotlight catalogue in the mail and seeing some truly heavenly aprons.

Yes, I just wrote that line.

I sense the past two years of co-habiting have changed me somewhat. For the better I think as my wine consumption is very slightly down at least, although lets just say we are still working on that one. But I’ve certainly changed.

Recently at work (one of those days that I turned up and tried to look intelligent I mean) a friend and I were discussing the old style housewives. (Oh wait, best stop to shout hello to Talia - picture me waving madly) anyway, she was telling me about the old handbook on how to be a good housewife. You got your mans slippers out ready, you had tea ready, you put a fresh ribbon in your hair and smoothed your apron and powdered your nose, ready to present him with his pipe and slippers on arrival.

Now, listen up, here is the ‘new me’ bit.

I didn’t scoff, I was quietly alarmed that all that feminist bra burning had gone on, and yet I still enjoyed making a home and doing some of those things. I almost asked for a copy of this guide.

I know, it surprises me too. Whilst I don’t go so far as the guide suggested, (especially as for instance, I’m sitting here in my flannelette pyjamas covered in brown monkeys and sporting green woolly socks) but I do enjoy things like opening the yard gates so he doesn’t have to stop and get out, fussing around the kitchen (with a glass of wine of course) preparing dinner before he gets home, and now here I am hankering after a new apron.

Yes, I hang my head in shame, I already own two.

If all this isn’t bad enough, I also found myself on my day off yesterday lovingly re-arranging my Tupperware cupboard. After cleaning out the pantry…..

On the bright side though, I can still drink many people under the table, consider rum an essential breakfast food whilst camping, and managed to turn up at my God sons first birthday party incredibly hungover.

So I haven’t morphed into a stepford wife completely, but I have certainly surprised myself how happy I am pottering in the garden and hanging around home. (even if it is in unattractive pj’s).

Whats interesting (or maybe it isn’t, but I still haven’t thought of todays thought) is that for years society created what they thought women were meant to do in the home then. And now, society is busy creating how we are meant to act now in this new century.

We should be strong, independent, sexually aware and able to service our own cars whilst rocking the baby in one hand, and preparing a gourmet meal with the other and finishing off a management report for work in our heads. And you know what, I like to think I’m all that (although my knowledge of cars isn’t past realising that the wheels are the rubber things on the bottom you put on the road) but at the same time, I don’t want to feel bad that I like making a home.

Is it just me or has society gone so far that some women (I’m sure I’m not alone) almost feel bad these days about loving their man, and wanting to stay at home and wear their apron? You can’t act like that anymore, well you can, but it's starting to get frowned down upon, possibly by the exhausted women who are servicing the car, watching the kids, working at a kick arse job and running the home. Poor buggers are probably so exhausted they don’t have time to enjoy donning an apron anymore.

So, that has now morphed into my thought for the day.

Aprons and hair ribbons and cats that go meow. Okay, I made that last bit up, I just didn’t want to do a whole blog without mentioning my cat :-)

So now I have mentioned Jeff the cat, and admitted my shame of the aprons, its time for me to sign off again.

I have dinner to prepare, a man to lovingly admire, and oh alright…. a bottle of wine waiting.