Awhile back I wrote about my botched attempt to buy new underwear in “Victoria’s Grandmother’s Secret.” What I didn’t tell you was what I did with my unfortunate purchase.
A friend had given us a piece of furniture she was replacing, and during the exchange I mentioned my brand-new, freshly washed, never worn underwear. I told her the size (never mind what it was) and asked if she’d like to have them. “Yes, of course!” she said.
And so began what could have become the Sisterhood of the Traveling Panties.
If that name sounds familiar, it’s because of the 2005 comedy/drama, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. In the movie four teenaged girls buy one pair of jeans that miraculously fits them all despite differences in body type, height, and weight. Since they’re going separate ways over the summer, each girl agrees to wear the pants for a certain length of time and ship them off to the next girl in line. The jeans are magical, and by the end of the summer the girls have experienced life in ways they never imagined.
Great idea, right? The only problem is that my panties didn’t fit either of us. In fact, my friend confessed she didn’t even try them on because she took one look and knew they wouldn’t fit. She brought them back to me last Sunday at church in the same Ziploc bag they were in when I gave them to her, but (because it was church, I assume) she’d put the Ziploc inside a pink gift bag.
I’ll stop for a couple of seconds so you can chuckle at the irony of Victoria’s grandma’s panties inside a bag the same color as those from her granddaughter’s fancy store.
That Sunday was the day of our traditional Thanksgiving dinner-on-the-grounds. Our church’s “dinner-on-the-grounds” really means “dinner in the sanctuary,” and after the service, chairs were pulled aside and round tables were hauled in. The whole area was transformed into a fancy dining room of burgundy linens and pumpkin centerpieces. By necessity, some of the chairs ended up along the walls, and this is where purses and Bibles and baby carriers and, yes, the pink gift bag ended up.
After the meal, I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. That’s when I saw my panty-packing pal and remembered I’d left the goods inside the church. Thinking what fun it would be to have a Baptist-based Sisterhood of Traveling Panties, I almost left them there.
But what if the preacher found them? What if the preacher’s wife found them? Or his mother-in-law? Or the lady who thinks it’s a sin to laugh in church? Or the guy who plays drums in the praise band?
I almost did it anyway, just to stir things up a bit. One thing stopped me. What if some innocent child found them? He’d be traumatized for life if—thinking he’d discovered something wonderful—he found a bag of old-lady underwear.
So they came home with me. They’re still in the Ziploc bag inside the pink gift bag, and I don’t know what to do with them. I’ll probably cut them up for dusting rags. What an ignoble end to what could’ve been a glorious adventure!