Thursday, 21 February 2013

I think I'll go hide out under there. I just made you say...

The worst part of underwear shopping is the prejudice you get for certain places. Like in say, Lasenza, you see 5 pairs of undies (thong or full-bum, lacy, racy, cute or sensible, and in a rainbow of colourful butt fashion)  for 25 bucks and you think 'what a steal!' and you start sorting through these trays of messy piles of missorted and random sized gotch like an Adventurer looking for the Golden Panty.
But say you go into Walmart. Or Target, name your box store, and that switch gets flipped, from deal-finder and savvy shopper, to the person who is MOST CERTAINLY NOT an insane cheapskate and crazy sweatpant-catpee-talk to yourself maniac, just a person who GODDAMMITT!! (but there's always room for chips and Catfancy). Somewhere deep in the recesses of your deal-savvy brain, a signal gets lost in translation, the signal being that somehow 6 rolled-up, pre-packaged hanes-her-way undies for $15.00 is Not a better deal than the(probably) same underwear that has been touched by countless ladies, not to mention store clerks, boys who think they're being funny, uncomfortable or even turned on boyfriends and husbands, etcetera, for ten more dollars.
Because all the sudden you feel a little uncomfortable buying your unmentionables in this massive store surrounded by people, wailing children, security cameras and Muzak. You feel like maybe although you know your family is on a budget and that is the only reason you have made as an acceptable excuse for being in such a store, that buying your chicken, shoes, tub stoppers, and then Underwear in the same place is below you.
I have to admit when I list those things together, Chicken, Shoes, Tub stoppers, Underwear, and then Video games, books, kids toys, fishing gear and transmission fluid-It is just a list that Should require more than one store. Ingenious really on these stores behalf to offer a little of everything and a lot of nothing.
But it still makes me uncomfortable to think that the boyshorts currently riding up my crack are on the same receipt as my new thermostat, my son's winter boots, and a weeks worth of meat and random produce. Maybe I'm just paranoid and read into this stuff too much.
Maybe I have a tiny version of my father on my shoulder repeating over and over in a comically high-pitched voice exactly what my aversions are.
Maybe I'm just regretting the choice of underwear and making other excuses. Who knows. But I do know one thing. This is the first article of clothing in my entire wardrobe(hair elastics and nail polish included) since I've been in charge of dressing myself, that is Pink. So that's something.