Undercover Tourist

If I've learned anything in 62 years of living, it's that life doesn't come with a road map.  You gotta be ready for unexpected potholes and detours along the way.  Every day is a journey and if we're wise, we keep souvenirs to remember it by.

 

That's what I've been dealing with the past couple of weeks...chug holes big enough to knock my plans clean out of alignment.

Cat Daddy had been planning on retiring the middle of this year (yes...gasp...we are of that age), but out of the blue, the planned date of retirement was changed...oops. As a result, I've been hurriedly preparing all the paperwork needed to start his pension as well as attending to all the details that go along with it.

In the middle of this chaos, came the startling revelation I'm an almost, but not quite, senior citizen.

When did this happen?

More importantly...how did it happen?

In reflection came another revelation. I suddenly realized my life could be told by the changing of my underwear.

I began life in a diaper and if I'm blessed to live long enough, I'm sure I'll leave this world wearing the same attire.

I progressed to training pants and I'm proud to say I passed with flying colors! 'Course, the older I get and with each little sneeze or giggle, I wonder just how well trained I am. From there it was just a hop, skip and jump to ruffles on my tiny tookus!

SQUIRREL ALERT!
I just have to ask why the term "training bra"? Training pants I get, but training bra? Just what the heck are the girls (BTW...I call my girls Mary Kate and Ashley in case y'all were wondering.) in training for...sit, speak, sit up? If it's shake...they'll learn that quick enough on their own. And don't even let me get started on "foundation garments" or we're likely to be here for days! 

By the time I started school, I was ready for my first set of Days of the Week panties. I'm sure a lot of y'all remember those, but do you also remember wearing Saturday on Monday or vicey versey 'cause mom hadn't done the laundry yet?

SQUIRREL ALERT II!
Why do we say "a pair of panties"? Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't we just wear 'em one at a time? Kinda like a pair of pants, you know? One at a time...although with the abundance of cold weather we've been having here at the North Texas Pole,  I'm tempted to throw on a couple of more pairs for added warmth.

I loved those panties...especially Sunday. They began my love affair with underthings. Nowadays kids are walking billboards, sporting Doc McStuffins or Spiderman on their little tushes. And grown ups aren't any better. We really should get paid for running around with Juicy emblazoned across our rumps!

And then came the '60's.

Peace, love and goodbye Playtex, hello Vassarette.

Young women everywhere...you can thank my generation for mini skirts, hip-huggers and hot pants...'cause with 'em came the need for bikini underwear and the invention of pantyhose.

Be gone granny panties and garter belts!

With the disco years, came the worry of panty lines showing through our tight britches and wrap dresses.  Thus began my years of going commando. What can I say? I was a child of the sixties and had no filters...and obviously no shame either!

The honeymoon years of my marriage included matching lingerie, but that didn't last long before I entered the maternity years.

For both my pregnancies, I paraded around in Cat Daddy's underwear...except when I went to the OB/GYN.  He didn't need to know my dirty little secret. My ever expanding belly itched like mad and I didn't own a single pair of cotton undies, so off to C.D.'s underwear drawer and on with his Fruit of the Looms. I'd love to be able to tell y'all I returned those back to his drawer after the kids were born, but sadly I did not. It was a while before ol' Deb could fit back into her Lily of France frilly skivvies, resulting in her fancy underwear consisting of control tops and panty girdles.

During the child rearing years, I was buying more Underoos and less lace. Sadly, my cotton britches came three to a pack, hanging on a rack at Sears. Temporarily gone were the lovely tables, heaped high and overflowing with silky drawers, trimmed in soft lace. No little satin rosebuds to distinguish the front from the back, only the annoying size tag scratching my hind end.  But all that changed in the '80's with the opening of a Victoria's Secret at our local mall.  It was as if the clouds opened up and a rainbow of knickers appeared!

Victoria and I became fast friends for the next umpteen years.  When the new catalog arrived in the mail, I felt like that kid back in 1959 and the Sears Christmas catalog was in the mailbox. Cat Daddy and I would go to war over who got to look at it first...although looking back...I now question his interest and/or motives!  All I say to that is five minutes ladies...just five minutes!

SQUIRREL ALERT III
One thing you'll never catch me wearing, even if all my undies are dirty, is a thong. I happen to think those things are just plain evil. A thong had to be designed by a man 'cause women have spent the better part of their days trying to keep their drawers from crawling into places said drawers got no place crawling into. Ain't no way this chubby lady is going to buy something designed to hone into...or saw in half...her nether-nether land.

Well y'all...that brings us to the 21st Century and the next chapter in my life. I don't save my unmentionables for special occasions 'cause let's face it...at my age, getting up in the morning is special enough. I love pretty underwear and will wear it until the day I have to slip on my first pair of Depends.  When that day comes, as I know it will, I pray I still have enough wits about me to hot glue a satin rose on 'em. Otherwise, how will I know which side goes in front...and in life as in intimates...that's an all important detail.