From Her Perspective

This weekend, I celebrated my bachelorette party.  Girls flew in from all over the country to help commemorate the legal termination of my single status.  We partied in the requisite way at my beach house, drinking too much, eating bacon covered tater tots and rehashing details of sexcapades past.  Most of us are married or about to be, and most of us have known one another for over ten years, so there is always a lot to talk about.  As we sucked on watermelon margarita popsicles (which are heaven), we laughed about how stupid we were and all of the things we did then that we’d never do now.  It made me realize that, now that I’m in a monogamous relationship that’s pretty much never going to end, there are certain things that I should be doing that I’ve been neglecting.  Things that I used to do when I was younger that I forget to do now.  With all of the changes we go through over the years, it makes sense that certain things will slip through the cracks.  And of course, this all boils down to one thing: lingerie. 

For me, lingerie has always been a huge deal.  I guess it’s because in high school I was so bookish and dorky that although most guys in my class probably suspected I had female parts but were in no way, shape or form interested in getting familiar with them.  In college, I got hot (read: eating disorder) and everything was different.  Suddenly, guys were interested in the state of my underpants.  Or lack thereof.  I had to immediately discard the ugly granny pants I wore under my overalls and invest in a serious new wardrobe.  Since I was in college and totally broke, my first stop was Frederick’s of Hollywood.  Ah, Frederick’s.  Tears come to my eyes now as I remember the first piece I bought.  It was red, it was lacy, and it was definitely very flammable.  It was the first time I really felt like a desirable woman, and it was so empowering.  Yes, I liked the attention and compliments, but it was more than that.  For the first time ever, I felt completely comfortable with myself.  I didn’t have to hide behind the fact that I was smart and that Peter from The Monkees is my cousin (he is).  It sounds totally shallow, but for me, those cheesy panties were a big deal. 

As I went through college and had serious relationships, my wardrobe became more extensive.  I preferred shopping for lingerie over anything else, and my top drawer was coveted by my friends.  It was obviously fun to take out and use, but I liked just having it there.  It made me feel good, made me laugh a little bit, and when things weren’t going so hot, I’d pull something out and then I felt better.  I guess it was kind of like eating a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, it just comforted me. 

Things were going along swimmingly and then I got one of those awful boyfriends who tells you everything you do is terrible and that you are a worthless human being.  I stopped buying my trashy lingerie.  I started buying crappy granny unders and threw out everything I owned.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but discarding my combustible thongs really was a sign that I was giving up on myself.  After a few years of that a-hole, I finally grew a brain and busted out of that relationship, but I guess I sort of forgot about that old part of me, the fun part who didn’t immediately think that spicing things up is a good thing, and that I deserve some fun when I feel like it. 

Well, a bachelorette party isn’t a bachelorette party without a truckload of embarrassing candy bras and riding crops, so as I picked through the presents my girls had given me, I pulled out a red lace teddy that looked remarkably like one I had owned years ago.  It was so weird, but I almost started crying.  What have I been doing with myself?  How had I let myself get away from this?  Of course I went home and bought out www.trashy.com (best sleazy lingerie ever, at prices you can’t beat.  What?  I may be fun again, but I still have to pay for groceries.  My Barstool salary doesn’t cover everything).  I don’t care how often I use them, or if I ever use them, but I need to know that part of me exists, and that my top drawer still horrifies and intrigues my girlfriends.

Which it is totally going to, when the see the Sergeant Sinner costume I picked out.  Class all the way.