This weekend I reclaimed my closet. At first I was just going to tackle spring/summer clothes and store them for the winter in my summer house garbage bags shoved into closets, but then a second of inspiration coupled with a fleeting moment of ambition led to me clearing off all my shelves, unfolding every article, removing each shirt, dress, regrettable sequined ensemble from it’s hanger and tossing it on my bed to be sorted and then placed in an appropriate bag to be either stored or given away.
I had had nearly finished when I stumbled upon a stack of lingerie. A stack that would make Victoria proud. A pile of pink silk, red satin and black lace spilled through my fingers. There were straps and snaps, bows and buttons, enough lingerie to make a man weep with happiness. And I had to get rid of it.
I have this… thing. About lingerie. As in, if one dude has seen me in it, then I really can’t wear it around another dude. It’s as though it’s this reminder of HEY I HAD SEX WITH SOMEONE ELSE AND THEY REALLY ENJOYED THAT STRATEGICALLY PLACED BOW TOO!, which is roughly eight thousand shades of awkward. And of course no man is ever going to ask and no woman is ever going to admit it, but you just want to pretend that whatever you are wearing, isn’t something that other eyes have seen.
(This would be an expensive issue if I dated regularly but given the fact that I’m both lazy and picky and find myself in lingerie situations as often as man witnesses the solar eclipse, it hasn’t really been a problem. However. It’s sort of an issue now. Ahem.)
I decided that I would donate it. It felt REALLY weird to do, but, after scouring Value Village in years past for Halloween costumes, I came to realize that other people donate lingerie and that if someone can’t afford brand new lingerie but still wants to wear it- who am I to deny them that? I heaved the pile into the donate bag, kept on sifting through years of clothes and promptly forgot about the graveyard of sexwear residing in one of the donation bags.
I hauled the three garbage bags to the front door, mentally giving myself a week to haul them to my car (I’m all about baby steps, people), when my doorbell rang. It was the neighbour- thanking me for watching her dog while her family was out of the city at a church retreat. She spoke briefly of how powerful it was to witness people embrace God and how she was so thankful her daughter was with her for the moment. We talked about weather and getting colds and not dressing warmly enough and as the conversation drifted to clothes, I had the thought of giving all the clothes I was going to donate to Value Village to my neighbour’s daughter. She loved the idea and so did I- my neighbour even volunteered to send her daughter over to help me carry the bags to her house (an idea which I promptly fell in love with).
It wasn’t until this afternoon- more than twenty-four hours after I’d given the clothes away that I realized that I forgot the lingerie was in the bags. The bags I gave to a ten year old. Who has deeply religious parents. Who lives right next door.
The worst best part of it all is that I’m not even that surprised that I forgot about the pile and gave sexwear to a minor. That totally fits with how I roll. I’m trying to silver line this situation and the best I can come with is if she decides to dress up like a *slutty fairy for Halloween, she’s got a head start.
*Hopefully the fact that you know, she’s TEN, coupled with the fact she’s raised in a really strict religious household will ensure she does not go the slut route on Halloween. If she does, I’m sending her this.