Dearies, the world is in complete disarray. The serious enormity of it all is almost paralyzing.
Perhaps then it should have been no surprise that when folding my laundry, fresh from the dryer, I encountered an object so long-ago abandoned and never thought of, that at first did not recognize what is was. Perhaps a cloth band for ponytails, or…
It finally dawned on me that this miniscule stretchty band of grey and pink was a thong… someone else’s not mine. This was afterall, a communal laundry room in our building.
At first unravel, this looked like a thong fit for a doll, albeit a small rubber doll. It couldn’t possibly fit a human, could it? Then memory started to kick in…
It is nigh impossible to remember that once I too was young, slim, trim and possibly even luscious, but there was a time when sexy underwear was part of my kit. Truly Dearies, thongs were never never included-far too uncomfortable and for lack of a better word, downright yucky. Tried them out and just could never get used to the constraining fit, particularly in places they would inevitably end up, but shouldn’t.
Nonetheless, discovery of this tiny scrap of fabric transported me back to a kinder, gentler, more fun time in life when the world was shiny and new, and lay open like an oyster, before me.
This was of course before I founded “Our Sisters of Perpetual Boredom”, a nunnery in the best traditions of Mother Church.
Normally, I would post a visual with the blog, but am going to leave things to your imagination here.
Raising a glass of champers to The Good Old Days, and to that great wit and raconteur Yogi Berra, who once said “Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be”. Cheers, Dearies, perhaps it never was!