He hit me, right between the eyes, with d): “I had some time to spare between meetings and thought you deserved a treat” Oh!
Rather shamefully, this is now the only “proper matching” set that I own. This news is going to horrify my sister Bea. Of course, I own underwear but not proper sets. I favour bras that you can buy packs of two and knickers from Asda. No-one sees them do they? And for when they have to (doctors appointments and the like) I’ve got a fairly swish set but it’s rather worrying that a blue bra and a pair of slightly-different-shade-of-blue-knickers can be classed as my “best” set.
I’ve got about seven bras, some in interesting wash-day-disaster hues and a veritable drawer full of pants: white high leg, flowered Bridget Jones’, various coloured tangas, black lacy (itchy, big mistake), grey flannel for the winter and the all time worst pant ever – a thong or two. I only ever wear them on special occasions. But you don’t need to know that.
And another thing, what do you call your pants? Are they pants, undies, knickers, drawers, grundies, bottom warmers or smalls? Saskia calls her bras“boobie bags” but she’s not normal.
Bea only ever wears matching underwear. She has them all in special compartments in her drawer and she’d rather lose a limb than be seen wearing mismatched undercrackers (another good word!). She takes time to decided her mood before deciding on the pink rosebud set or the lemon lace set or the white silk set or the black see through set…….you get the picture. Saskia has the“dip your hand in the drawer and see what you come up with” philosophy. Charlie only ever wears bras and knickers in virginal white. What’s the point, she said the last time we were in Debenhams perusing the knicker aisles, in buying coloured stuff?
I’m a bit sensitive about underwear. I don’t mean that I wash and dry our undies under cover of darkness but it’s incredibly cringeworthy when Amelia decides to “help” with the laundry and takes an inordinate amount of time folding and sorting my pants. “Do these actually fit you?” she asked once, coming in from the utility room and waving a particularly skimpy tanga in the air just as Charlie sat down at the table. I always feel a bit strange (it’s my Catholic forebears) when I encounter a pair of David’s boxers entwined with a pair of my knickers in the washing machine. Surely it can’t just be me?
David urged me to try my new set on and do a sort of Dance of the Seven Veils for his benefit. As Mac was at his friend Tom’s for dinner and the Hungarian Goulash wasn't ready until half seven I readily obliged - to be fair, he deserved a treat too!