Kat's Rambling Mind

I went to the local big box store yesterday afternoon to pick up some things. I gathered my few items and headed over for the last thing on my list: I needed a pack of underwear.

Now, ladies, I can’t say I remember when the shift took place, but you know the one I’m talking about; the gradual shift when the style of underwear you choose dramatically changes. We’ll call it the Great Underwear Metamorphosis. Don’t try to pretend it doesn’t happen; we all know very well it most certainly does.

In various stages of womanhood, it generally goes like this: lingerie, panties … and then drawers. I don’t think I have to explain the difference between the three styles, but I am almost exclusively in the third camp now, much to my surprise and slight dismay. From fancy, lacy matched sets to plain 12 ct. value packs … my vanity definitely took a hit when I realized I was now a drawers woman.

Of course, I could still choose lingerie if I so desired, but practicality and comfort are my main priorities now; I’m not fixing to pay $50 for a single set of lingerie when the 20 pair value pack is only $16! Plus, there’s no hand-washing with drawers. You toss those things in the washer and dryer and get on with your life.

And so, there I was at the store, wheeling a ridiculously huge cart into an equally ridiculous narrow aisle. The packs of underwear hung there like tired and sad cotton guardians of bare bottoms everywhere. There were giant packs of plain white, a few packs of neutrals that always seemed to have one pair in an oddball color, and then packs and packs of bright colors and mostly hideous patterns.

I saw the kind I planned to get, but there in the middle of the aisle was an elderly woman and her husband, blocking my access. I smiled at them and politely tried to maneuver my cart out of the way to make more room. I leaned. I stretched. I said, “Excuse me”….to no avail. MeMaw was looking at the ladies’ delicates (which were everything except delicate), and she had clearly decided that she shall not be moved.

So, I walked around for a bit. I looked at the socks, the shoes, and the pajamas. I quietly checked back. MeMaw had not budged. I went over to the bra section and also checked out the yoga pants. I leaned over to look…now MeMaw had several packages open and was inspecting them individually. (Which reminds me: always wash your new underwear before wearing it. You never know who’s handled it.) Her husband, PePaw, smiled and nodded at me.

I went through five other departments and suddenly realized I’d been there an hour. I hustled back to the underwear aisle….AND SHE WAS STILL THERE. Good grief! What could she possibly be doing? Was she taking inventory?! I half-smiled and half-winced and said in a clear voice, “Hi, pardon me, but I just need…”, and she stared at me. I took a step forward, and she rolled her cart over to block my way.

Oh, so it’s like that. There was about to be a throwdown in the cotton drawers section of aisle C15, y’all.

But then I remembered my raising, my good job, and the fact that I’m trying to get right with the Lord and just gave up the field. MeMaw won because I wasn’t about to risk fighting an old woman over undies. Besides, I’m pretty sure she could have taken me. Now, I’m off to fold my pitiful-looking dainties….err, I mean ironclads!