Intermission: Vintage Lingerie
My eldest cousin, the practical scientist, said clear the room out, get out the furniture, the clothes, take away all those things that could hurt you when you look at them. The sooner the better, make way, clear out, clear out, wind sweeping through every bit of dust and leftover hair and all those dresses and winter coats. And oh, the hats the hats and all those gloves.
I thought the lingerie chest would be the easy part, who wants the old panties? No one, those close to the skin intimacies that cannot be handed down. I opened them and it happened again, as soon as I touched the silky satin slips the sobbing began and I had to turn away. Turn away for another day. The choice was made for me, out of my hands.
A month passed and I made a second pass at the lingerie chest. This time the gravity lifted and I was fearless, tearless. The old panties on top were easy to discard, but I found wondrous slips of fine quality, held together with tiny stitches, USA made, embellished with ruffles and lace, each one carefully folded. Slips of classic design, made to wear beneath proper suits and dresses with a strand of pearls and gloves. Stockings were paired in their quilted, hand sewn holders, placed away with utmost care. She probably couldn’t wear them for years, yet she had carefully folded them and preserved them with love.
Here came the surprise: beneath them I found jewel toned teddies. Smoking hot. See through lace strategically placed over breast and buttocks, with snaps in the crotch. Something came over me and I stripped off my clothes and put them on. Modeled them for Tim in the living room. They fit me perfectly. “I have new respect for your mother, “ he said. Me too.
Daddy did marry a vixen. He was bewitched. I didn’t feel quite as sorry for him after that.
Maybe he wasn’t such a total martyr after all.
I mean, look at those eyes.