Fancy pants

I assessed my underwear today. It was not good.

Like many women of a certain age and relationship status, my daily selection tends toward cotton underwear washed hundreds of times for greater comfort and broken down elastic that will not pinch or bind my "curves." I have underwear that I now realize was purchased in another decade and only fits due to the aforementioned washings and structural breakdowns. While sorting through my drawer and determining just how bad my selection had become, I caught sight of my ratty-underweared self in our floor to ceiling mirrored closet doors and had an unbidden thought: who would want to have sex with THAT?

In films, we never see women in old cotton underwear or ratty bras stained slightly gray on the straps from repeated wear. We don't see faded black cotton underwear with "Calvin Kind" knock off labels and stretched out waistbands. Every movie or ad or television program sells the dream of lace, silk, satin and newness...new styles, new places for peek-a-boo holes, new, unblemished swashes of black satin or red silk over equally new and unblemished skin. Half of the models showing off these goods are less than half the age of anyone who can afford it, and in fact can probably not even legally buy a drink with their modeling paycheck. As women of A Certain Age we see these models, soft focused-actresses, body doubles and brand spankin' (if you're lucky and your partner is willing) new under garments. And we ask ourselves: what's wrong with me? Why don't I look like that/own that/bend that way? Answer: Because you're a grown up and the last time you spent $50 on underwear was because your age-driven nearsightedness caused a decimal error when you wrote the check.

Why do we deprive ourselves? Why do we compare ourselves? Because we are women. Women who are constantly shown unattainable, youthful bodies and told that we should look just like that. It's only a $10 a day away with Nutrisystem or one bottle away with the latest diet pill. We are women who aren't airbrushed or Spanxed or even nicely dressed on a regular basis, and to get any one of those three things would involve perhaps winning a Hollywood sweepstakes. We are women and moms and we are programmed to put others first and ourselves down and to forget that sometimes, just sometimes, when you wear really nice underwear and bras you feel so good about yourself that wiping that kid's butt or swiffering the floor for the 10th time that day can be just a little less painful and perhaps even enjoyable.

So let me revise that statement: Yes, we are women. Women who have full lives and full bottoms and who deserve some goddamn underwear that borders on if not crosses the line to LINGERIE, and we need to stop feeling guilty for spending money on ourselves instead of using that extra $20 or $50 to buy our child the latest Crocs, educational toy, fancy raincoat or some food just because he or she is hungry. AGAIN.

Shop on, ladies. Shop on.