I’m sure I am not the only person who has turned to underwear for solace while grieving. The day after my mother died, on a frigid January day in Seattle, I desperately dug through Mom’s closet to find her wool socks and long-johns. I had hurriedly arrived from Honolulu and shivered uncontrollably. My other siblings rolled their eyes when I asked if they had any interest in Mom’s underwear. I had carte blanche. Six inches taller than my mother with a completely different body type, it never occurred to me that any of her clothes might fit me. Later, it seemed a little creepy, but at the time, I felt such a need to be close to her that I donned a bra and was shocked at its perfect fit. I didn’t tell anyone else about it, but it felt good to carry her scent close to my heart. With her stockings and thin silk pantaloons under my jeans, I was cocooned in some fragment of her essence. At night I wore her neck-to-ankle nightgowns, swathed in closeness to her twenty-four hours a day.
But I had no idea that I would target underclothing in times of loss as a general personality trait until several years later when I sadly ended a long relationship. My first act was to throw out all of my dainties and night wear. How cleansed and refreshed I felt to know he wouldn’t recognize the inner me or my night time self. In my fragile state of mind, this seemed to be a healthy way to establish a bracing authentic identity, separate from him. It worked (along with numerous self-help efforts, therapy and a final good-bye).
Little did I know, but thus began my Great Underpants Search. After several years, much to my dismay, women’s personal wear styles had changed. For weeks, I tried this type or that, but could not find a comfortable one. Eventually, I determined that if I combined the feature of one with a section of another and added several pieces of my own fabric, I would have the perfect outcome: artistic panty collages. I hauled out my sewing machine and began to remodel store-bought drawers. Not only would my ex-boyfriend never suspect what I looked like under my clothes, no one would, for I designed small clothes never before seen on earth, all my own unique colors and designs: black and white polka dots with yellow streaks and black lace (a la Minnie Mouse), a subtle lavender abstract design with gray silk outlined with tiny piping (for business), blue abstract expressionist swirls on black (for art), green Hawaiian sea turtles swimming around a frothy turquoise background (every day in Hawaii).
If I were to market my creations, many names sprang to mind: Peerless Rear, Ultimate Undies, Diva Drawers, Drama Down Below, Betrayal Blast, Nether-regions Nonpareil, Underwear Extraordinaire, Fun Buns. I must admit to a parcel of revenge inherent in these ultra-personal innovations, for they seemed to shout, “Hey, here is the wild beauty and excitement you are now missing.” I’m not proud of this sentiment, but there it is. And it’s better than dropping into hysteria or a frozen and blank mind, other options I have tried and would not recommend.
Let me tell you about the latest wonder: a sedate business-casual paisley set on a background of fluorescent pink and lime green with a trim of dotted guinea hen feathers (for writing).
Real Life – Real Laughs:
Humor When You Need It Most
Cate Burns’ thirty-eight non-fiction stories of heartfelt humor explore society’s foibles and personal snafus with insightful zingers that will delight readers. Burns casts an unstinting, cock-eyed look at personal change, friendship, sanity and courage.
“Absolutely LOVE the descriptions in this work. Very, very, very clever and, dare I say it? -unique. This is refreshing, funny, inventive and delightful.” -Sharon Whitehill, Ph. D.
