How long do we have to keep old underwear before we are willing to relinquish them? You know—those yawning, gaping, over-stretched, wrinkled, seam-weak, faded underpants—the ones you loved so much when you purchased them you wished you had bought two of everything? The purple-striped ones, the pink ones with the balloons, the elegant black ones with the tiny diamond shapes? What happens to our preferences? Where do they go?
I'm not talking only about tired underwear, but about things we desire one day and dislike the next. For example, last week I spread out, over the dining table, the white lace tablecloth, thinking how beautifully it went with the white picture frames and the bookcase; how summery the room seemed; how clean. But today when I went downstairs the first thing I saw was the stark white tablecloth, granny-looking and a bit prudish, lying on the table as if it had taken the room hostage.
I don't know. Is it me? It used to be that I could put something in its place—a picture, a chair, a lamp—and I would love it exactly in that place for decades. The wall colours I chose would be the most perfect colour choices in the history of wall paint, and the alignment of the couch and chair/s was always absolutely exactly perfect. I remember standing on the stairs on my way up to bed and admiring, over my shoulder, the configurement of it all, marvelling at my ability to place things just so.
Well, not any more. What I love Tuesday is not what I'll want by Thursday, and I have no idea why. My only saving grace, my only hope, is that as I sit here typing I can see, in my peripheral vision, the straw garbage container that holds three pair of my old panties—one purple, one yellow, one white. And as I take a sideways glance, I can at least remember, somewhat vividly, the excitement with which I bought them; the sweetness of their touch; the surety that I would love them always, no matter how faded, torn or undesirable they might become. And here, for a little minute at least, I miss them.
<:^)
Archived Monday, August 17
Posted by Jennifer Coffey at 5:05 PM
