By SARAH WILLS
I like big knickers.
Quite frankly, the bigger the better. They must be cotton with full-coverage and a broad gusset. I prefer neutral shades of beige and white (which eventually end up an attractive shade of grey). The only aspect of whimsy is stretch lace instead of firm elastic, eliminating the potential for the dreaded muffin top.
Once when I had a couple of girlfriends visiting, my husband walked outside with the washing basket (+10 points) and asked for help to hang my undies (-10 points), whereupon he gleefully used six pegs for each pair (-157 points). What. A. Catch.
Anyway, back to the point. Open my undies drawer and you’ll find:
- eight of the above described: two white, two beige, two pink (a mishap with red pants thrown in with a whites-and-lights wash), one grey, and one black.
- one pair of large black light control tummy-suckerinerer undies. (Note: light control.)
- the pair my husband will never ever in a million years see: industrial-strength beige tummy and thigh control pants, which I have only worn twice for black tie occasions. (Umm, under my dresses of course, not as my formal wear.)
You will not see any G-strings, French cut duds, hipsters or bikini briefs. Once upon a time, however, they were all in there in a rainbow of colours. They had tags that involved secrets with Victoria, and being in a state of pleasure. Did I mention that my current array have all been purchased at Target?
What I want to know is when did this happen to me? I admit I’ve always been a fan of cotton (c’mon, ladies, let it breathe), but when did the size and shape move from scant to scary?