Crotchless Knickers

It’s not every morning I come to work and find an opened packet of knickers on my desk, but it’s not the first time either. This is due to number 1 friend’s daughter being a knicker fuss.

Surprisingly enough, despite having several daughters, knickers is an item of clothing I have very rarely bought them. I have found, over the years, that despite their growing taller, their bottoms have remained at a constant size. This is the reason why, as I was hanging out the washing this morning, I noticed that daughter 4, who is now 11, is still wearing a strawberry patterned pair of 5-6’s. (Although the type of fruit is so faded it is no longer clear). This, combined with number 1 friend’s daughter’s knicker fuss, means I can put any spare knicker money towards shoes. Added to this, teenage daughters now choose to buy their own, after I bought one packet that I asked them to share.

Thinking about knickers reminded me of a poem I wrote at University:

The French may be good dressers,
Good lovers, good kissers
But they really invented
Uncomfortable knickers

Now, I’m no longer in the market for French knickers, but it got me wondering whether they still exist. When I was 16 a boyfriend bought me a rather fancy, lacy, deep red pair. One evening my mum and dad went to the pub and as dad approached mum carrying the drinks, she asked him what was hanging off the velcro of his red ski jacket. I wondered why the landlord winked at me, he said.

Dog 1 has a penchant for tissues, dog 2 has a penchant for knickers. He steals them off the airer, where there is, at any given time, an endless supply. He then chews away the gusset and discards them, crotchless, on the floor. Yesterday, daughter 2 had a real (as oppose to a Facebook/face time) friend round. We heard a scream from the downstairs loo. Real friend appeared looking rather pale – there’s something on the floor and they look wet, she mumbled. Yes, my knickers strike again!