In case you were wondering, this will be a post about panties, so if you're embarrassed by such things, come back tomorrow for an earnest post about something doubtlessly less personal.
I am not ashamed to say that I have enough underwear that I could wear a different pair daily for more than a month without having to do laundry and without having to wear dirties. Perhaps two months, even. Anyway, nothing wrong with that. I think nothing cures the ills of one's ho-hum life like going to Nordstrom Rack and spending about $100 bucks on fabulous bloomers that would have originally cost about $500, or so. I actually do this a time or two a year. Anything to keep the back 40 happy, right?
Anyhoo. I've been pretty busy lately and I haven't, well, I haven't been keeping up with the laundry by a long shot. I'm keeping the frequent flier garments clean, and clean towels, but only just. Underwear, well I'll just say I've nearly run through the drawers drawer. Monday I pulled out an old favorite pair. Sumptuous, nudie-pink, a little sparkly, these were always the pretty/dressy go-to panties. Well, Monday, I pulled them on and they weren't quite the same, but I was bleary-eyed and not thinking about it too much. hmmm. Okay.
Got to work and sat at my computer. My jeans were cut below the waist, and my sweater rode up a bit and it felt strange. I reached back and felt, oh, 3 or 4 inches of panty sticking up over the waist of the jeans. And they were wrinkly/baggy. Egad! I've lost weight, but didn't realize how much I'd lost since those were the sumptuously perfect panties.
Naturally, I pulled out my little knife. From the cube catty-corner to me, I heard a shriek that told me I wasn't supposed to have a knife there, and then she started laughing at the five miles of panty flapping in the wind.
Here's where the story really starts. Next to her and directly across is a lovely lady who's been a great coworker. She's really tiny, and asked me what size panty I wore. I thought this was odd, but then again- we are pretty casual - so I told her and she said she'd lost some weight and had some nice underwear if I would like to have them.
What do you say to that? I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of hand-me-down undies, actually. I confess when I occupied lofts in the industrial nethers of Dallas, I knew bums went through our garbage on a regular basis, and I dreaded the thought of seeing my manky old undies festooned outside the slick-with-filth dungarees of some insane homeless person, or on their head, or-- who knew what a crazy person would do? Anyway, before throwing away old panties, I would pretty much cut them into 3 pieces so they would panty no more forever. THAT in a nutshell tells pretty much how I feel about recycled underwear. Unless we're talking about a vintage slip or brassiere, I find the thought of using someone else's underthings for my own to be less than appealing.
So-- how to respond? The lady across the cube was being kind and generous. I said "that'd be great!" and inside I was blanching at the thought. Then I thought maybe she would forget. I made my rounds at work and came back to my desk before lunch, and the lady across from me had already gone to lunch.
I came back from lunch to find a neatly tied plastic bag full of panties on my chair.