Anyhoo … KARI’S BLOG: I finally paid for going commando
I’ll be honest – I’m still having a bit of trouble losing that bothersome baby weight. It’s been 23 years now but I’m almost there. But I still can’t bear things around my middle area. Over the years I have generally managed to look presentable without having one waistband in my entire closet. The only sector of my wardrobe that completely suffered was my underwear drawer. I have never found a pair of undies that would sit nicely, not cut in, fold over or roll down. Please pardon the visual.
So, between you and me, I just gave up on them pretty much altogether. After all, what did I really need them for? It’s not like I was ever standing on my head with a skirt on and I simply avoided going outside on windy days. I found them practically pointless. Until one day.
It was the day I was being shoved through a window that I came to realize just how key underwear can be in a person’s life. Oh yes, I know what you’re thinking – and oh yes, my mother gave me the quintessential warning involving the connection between getting hit by a bus and the importance of clean underwear. And yes, I wrote that advice off along with “Always wear comfortable shoes” and unfortunately “Make sure you marry a nice boy.” So when the girls and I were away for the weekend and one of them accidentally locked the keys in the cottage with my purse still in there and the only way back into the cottage was through a window that was too high to climb through without a boost, and it was decided that since I was the lightest of the group by 5 lbs. and it was my purse that got locked in – it would be I who was shoved back in through a window.
I was not remotely prepared for this. I was wearing baggy shorts with neither a waistband nor a pair of undies even nearby. I was dressed for a comfortable drive home, not to be unceremoniously lifted up over someone’s head and shoved through a window.
It gets worse. The window was so high off the ground and so wide that in order to avoid crashing headfirst on the inside, I had to apply some brakes by performing my signature move from high school gymnastics. I was forced to do the splits so my legs would grab either side of the frame, thus slowing my descent. Maybe it was blood rushing to my head but I heard the great underwear warning of my mother ring loudly in my ears. This might be worse than getting hit by a bus because there were no screeching tires to drown out comments like “now we know you dye your hair” and “nice episiotomy scar” or other comments involving Wally and The Beav.
Anyhoo, I now have several pairs of underwear. Which I hate. And I never leave home without them.
Kari Green is an Oakville blogger with an interest in travel, film and food. Maybe less travel, more film and food. Maybe less film and more food. Maybe just pizza.