Down in in the old North State, Spring is in full swing. I believe I mentioned this before, so won't belabor you with the deets of how EARLY it got here or how generally WARM it's been, and it's not even April yet, which is a little disconcerting but normal for this time of year, but instead will launch right into a catalog of all the current Springtime activities we gots goin' on right now.
- Kids are wearing shorts to school.
- The Bradford pear trees are shedding their flower petals in a fair rain. The gutters and streets are coated with them, a white river of tree finery. This happened last night, as far as I can tell.
- Deciduous trees have tiny baby leaves on them, proving, once again, that chartreuse is in deed a color that mother nature has found suitable to include in her palette. It amazes me every year, this delicate color springing out from brown branches and peeking out from behind spent blossoms. it's a thrill, every daggone time.
- Jackets are now firmly relegated to the coat closet. Except for raincoat, which I could have used today, but do not have right here with me. Nor an umbrella neither.
- The first sighting of sandals at work has occurred. Actually, this happened in February, but I took that as a fluke because those particular sandals were on the feet of an Indian collegaue, who was also wearing some kind of almost-sari getup, and I chalked that up to cultural identity and not actual seasonally inspired sartorial expression.
- Soon the flapping of the flip flops will be heard far and wide at my place of employ, a kind of happy sound, to my mind, but one that I know drives some people almost out of their heads. Yes, pedicure season is almost here. Break out the pumice stones and lotion, y'all!
- Daffodils are almost done blooming. Camellias are out for the first showing, and I saw some early azaleas going great guns yesterday afternoon. Y'all, it's not even APRIL!
- Lawns are greened up, even the ones that habitually turn brown over the "winter."
- And, perhaps most tellingly, I've had to put the AC on in the car.
Yup, that's Spring. It's here. It will soon give way to stiflingly hot summer days, when there's not enough pant in a dog to cool down properly, when the heat makes the parking lot macadam soften and and unprotected steering wheel too hot to touch. Summer can be brutal.
Spring, on the other hand, is glorious. And early. I'll take it.
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Yesterday, Jeff Kay of the fabulous WVSR spent an entire post on what kind of underwear he likes and had used through the years.
That got me thinking, because, well, underwear is a funny subject. UNDERPANTS!! See? I'll bet one of you giggled like a second-grader right then.
When I was a wee sprout, I had those day-of-the-week underwear things that were supposed to, I guess, be worn on the day of the week that was printed on the outside. I recall that mine were a CHRISTMAS PRESENT (!) from an Aunt, that were made of some kind of awful slippery tricot stuff and that not only didn't fit right but that also made me hot and itchy. I couldn't ever find the right day of the week, and I wouldn't DARE wear the WRONG day because what if I accidentally exposed them on the playground or somebody pantsed me and saw that I had on Tuesday when it was Friday? The other kids might think that I'd worn the same pair for three days, and that was not at all acceptable. No way, no how. Too much pressure.
All us grade schoolers thought underwear was a pretty hilarious thing. If you saw someone's underwear, it was right and proper to call out "I see London, I see France, I see X's underpants!", after which the so-shamed one would blush furiously and try to adjust matters so that the shameful exposition was closed to the general public.
Children can be so cruel.
A little later in life (say, when I was in 4th grade) I remember going across the street to a friend's house, and she showed me the new underwear her mom had gotten her. There they were, a 6-pack of fresh, new, COLORED underwear, with lacy trim. I was aghast - COLORED? Underwear came in COLORS? Unreal. I was floored. MY underwear came in white. And some other white, with more white thrown in for good measure. I was instantly jealous, and impressed with her high degree of sophistication.
This was also the friend who had purple suede shoes with gigantic chunky heels, which I also coveted, and an array of zip-up bodysuits in all manner of paisleys, which I longed to have, this being the 70's, when such things were common and stylish. Those "ladies of a certain age" among the readership of NAY might remember those bodysuits, the ones with the circle-shaped zipper pull and the mock turtleneck? So horribly uncomfortable - the ONE I had kept unsnapping at the bottom when ever I sat down. I distinctly remember being in class feeling yet another snap let go (accompanied by a faint muffled "pop"!), and wondering if that was the second snap to disengage, or if that one was the LAST one, and at any moment my bodysuit would come shooting out of my pants in a rebound of elasticity that would send the snaps rocketing into the back of my head, knocking me out cold onto the floor of Mr Diorio's social studies classroom and cementing my position as the dorkiest of dorks in the land of Dorkasia.
Needless to say, even though I wanted the fashion, I didn't not want to suffer for it in that way, and so soon abandoned the idea of bodysuits altogether in favor of the far safer and more figure-hiding jumpers.
Oh, cuz yeah, I was one of the only girls in 4th grade with BOOBS. Just try wearing a form-fitting zippered bodysuit to school when you've got those pups a-blooming on your chestal area, and see how long the zipper goes untugged by some daggone fifth-grade boy out to get peekies at what he somehow knows he wants but doesn't yet know why. It's not a long wait, I can tell you from sad experience.
Sigh.
Anyhow, where was I? Oh, underwear. Heh. Jeff put out a question to his readers as to what kind they prefer. The comments section made for some amusing reading.
So, because it worked for HIM, I thought it might work here too.
I'll start by offering that I have no favored kind of underwear, because, well, I don't often WEAR any. Started going commando (as it were), a number of years ago, and never looked back.
Oh, sure, for special occasions I might break out something fancy. Maybe. I tend to think they just get in the way, but I understand the allure of a lacy something to cover the naughty bits or a bit of silk to run your hands over. But for regular everyday, nothing gets between me and my Calvins.
How 'bout YOU? Please, tell me in the comments. Feel free to lie like a rug for entertainment's sake if you're so inclined.
TYVM for playing along.
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