In praise of giant knickers

This should not be confused with my previous post entitled In Praise of Giant Knockers.

There are certain attitudes to clothes that have sneaked up on me. The idea of comfort for instance. Comfort in clothes was previously not a deciding factor but now it’s almost top of my agenda. I’ve talked about comfortable shoes and now I’ll broach the subject of comfortable knickers. I’ve not yet reached my grandmother’s standard but there are days when I feel I’m not far off.

Nana wore enormous knickers that almost reached her knees, bloomers, I believe they’re called. They were like loose fitting chub rub shorts elasticated at the hem. They came in pale blue, pink, lemon and white, baby colours. Nana referred to these under garments as Passion Dampers. She called cami knickers Free Traders. She thoroughly disapproved of modern briefs.

On a slightly different note but still knicker related, she told Frenchie during a fight, that she, Frenchie, would die in the gutter like a dog, strangled by her own knickers. Nice. Frenchie however quite rightly pointed out that dogs don’t wear knickers.

I used to be famed for my exotic undies but now I like those full briefs from M and S that come right up to the waist and down under your cheeks. They are so comfortable, virtually invisible under clothes and I think they’re retro stylish too. I might be deluding myself. Goodly refers them as Apple Catchers. Cornflake averts his eyes on comfy knicker days.

Saucy would like me to note at this juncture that not all middle aged women take this route. She would like it known that no matter how flappy her arse gets she will not give up on the string like thongs that have served her well for decades. I salute her and I hope this satisfies her request that I consider a variety of points of views in my posts. I did point out that on my blog only my point of view is required but I’ve worked in education for too long to ignore the issue of inclusivity when challenged.

Saucy also says, remember to buy your knickers one size too big. Good advice for avoiding VPL. This advice however is invalid if you’re a UK size 16 visiting Venice and have forgotten to bring undies with you. As far as I could gather, back in the 00’s Italians didn’t believe in arses bigger than a UK 14. I can only assume that large bottomed Italian ladies have to go commando, I know I did.