Unmentionables

Amidst a torturer explaining herself, a State Attorney General resigning over non-consensual bondage activities, and a convicted felon stealthily advancing to become the Republican candidate for his state's senate seat, a girl's thoughts turn to her own unmentionables.

That's what my grandparents' generation called the clothes we wear closest to our skin. Undies, panties, gotkes (the long pink one piece item my grandma rinsed out and hung over the shower curtain to dry) all the way to bralets and camisoles and pasties to cover protruding nipples (my son has my permission to stop reading at this point if I'm over-sharing) and support sagging bosoms (another Grandma term that I love) - every woman I know has a love/hate relationship with her undergarments.

Scarlett likes one bra and one bra only.  The sole purveyor of that item has a hit-or-miss relationship with keeping it in stock, especially when it goes on sale.  We spent a good portion of our last lunchtime bemoaning that fact.

I spent 50 plus years hiking drooping bra straps back up to my shoulders; no matter what I bought or how I tightened/loosened/opened/pushed/readjusted the straps would not stay put.  Then I found Coobies (see photo of them soaking, above) and, for $22 a piece, all my worries were solved.  Clique, my one and only boutique in town, stacks them up delightfully next to the cash register.  

There are polka dots and stripes and lacey fronts and backs.  There are bright colors and neutral colors and blacks and greys  and whites.  They make me happy.  They are perfectly priced.  They are comfortable all day long.

Unfortunately, they don't do very well in the dryer, even on the delicate cycle.  

Unfortunately, I don't really like doing hand laundry.  

This morning, staring into the empty cubbyhole where my Coobies live, I was forced to take action.  Months ago I purchased Dr Bonner's Castille Soap at Costco.  I was intrigued by the wordiness of the bottle, by a vague memory of the name, and, it being Costco, by the price.

Sadly, as Not-Kathy so eloquently put it, the soap cleans everything.... just not very well.  I was forced to scour the cabinets in the laundry room this morning, searching for an enhancer.  There, in the drawere beneath the washing machine, was a box of La France, the brightener and whitener G'ma used.  I don't remember buying it, but I was happy to see it this morning.  I followed the directions, poured in a satisfying amount, and squished my delicates to my heart's content.

La France is a bluing agent.  I don't know why blue is needed to turn my whites whiter, but, apparently, it is.  The bluing washed out, and the underwear is drying on the rack in the sunshine. The dry heat makes quick work of the cloth, though the inserts take longer to become wearable.  

So, for the rest of the day, my underwear will decorate my back yard.

If politics can reach to the gutter on a regular basis, I can blog about my lingerie.

At least mine is clean.