Cents and Sensibility

I am wearing my dead mother's underpants. Is that weird?

I packed them up after she passed away, and I took them with me. I did it because I felt protective of her privacy and I didn't want a bunch of estate sale people looking at them. But when I got back to Oregon with them, I just couldn't throw them away. It felt too...sad.

Plus, I saw that they are really fancy high end, expensive underpants. Vanity Fair. And, as far as I am concerned, if you are looking for some Very Fancy Underpants, look no further than the ones named after 19th Century British novels.

I am presently wearing an underpant named by William Makepeace Thackery. Take that, you cotton brief  Lollipop bitches. Lollipop. Please. Maybe The Lollipop Briefs could work. A John Grisham line of ladies' underpants.

Vanity Fair, as 19th Century British novel-titles-for-underpants go, is a very nice name. I'm glad the lingerie company had the sense not to name their underpants after the characters in the novel: Sharp and Crawley. Yikes. 

Vanity Fair is a much nicer underpants name than other novels of the time - say, Bleak House. That's just giving up down there. Or Frankenstein. Which would only further the teeth-hiding-in-the-vagina fear that men have. The Fitz-Boodle Papers is a zippy sort of name for underpants, don't you think, albeit a confusing one, especially for boys who are just learning about women by secretly checking out labels on ladies' underwear. Still, a generation of males who grow up calling our ladyparts  Fitz-Boodle Papers would be an improved generation of males, as far as I am concerned. I bet there'd be less misogynistic insults on Twitter. I bet a Donald Trump wouldn't even be born into a world where men called women's private parts their Fitz-Boodle Papers.

Now, naming an underpants line Great Expectations is really just asking for disappointment, am I right? Especially if you're a constipated Jewish woman. I don't need that kind of heartbreak every time I go to the toilet.

And, of course, there is the saddest of the underpants: Paradise Lost. 

I hope Mom is okay with my wearing her underpants. I hope she isn't looking down from the heavens, rolling her eyes and saying, "for God's sake, go buy yourself some nice underpants." I hope she isn't sighing, "Oy, Murray, we raised a schnorrer." 

If my mom were alive, she'd send me a hundred dollars to buy myself some nice underpants. I know this for certain. And I would call her and say it isn't necessary, I can afford to buy nice underpants, it's just that I choose not to. And she'd say, "OH FOR GOD'S SAKE, don't wear my old underpants!"

So, Mom, if you are listening, I want you to know that you also taught me not to be a conspicuous consumer and to make do with what's in front of me, and I hope you understand that you did not raise a schnorrer.

You raised two of them.

Karen is wearing your old bras. 

 

 

 

 

 

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[Colin Summers]

"Karen is flashing truckers your old bras."