Page 53 of Am I Allergic to Men?
‘Exactly, what is this? Your bags were full of pants like this, Lucy.’ This is a bit trendy for Marks as it’s a leopard-print thong with sheer bits. She flings it back at me, on her knees on the floor going through the sizes of some multipack black minis.
‘Mum, they’re super boring,’ I say.
‘They’re functional, Lucy. They do their job. Have you been going to your physio in your dental-floss knickers? Has Igor seen everything?’
‘Most likely, the lucky bastard.’
She shakes her head as I find Beth, who’s around the corner sifting through some five-pack multipack shorts.
‘Oooh, stripes… get you…’ I jest.
‘Fancy knickers are wasted on me, thongs get lost in my arse,’ she explains.
My mum pops her head around the corner like an angry guard dog. I rake my fingers along some of the knickers on display. Back in my late teens, we all wore cotton minis but I had gone out and bought more modern stuff for myself. We once bought fake designer knickers from the market that spelt out Kalvin Cline on the waistband. We used to wear those with combats and think we were a bit hip hop.
‘So was I always about the thongs?’ I ask Beth.
‘Well, yes. But knickers are a personal comfort thing, aren’t they? I like a big pair when I’m on my period or in a fancy dress to hold everything in. I just throw anything else on for the everyday. I’m very bad at replacing mine too. Mum actually threw all my knickers away because they’re so old. The elastic had actually gone.’
‘I clean my windows with better rags,’ Mum’s voice says, drifting in.
‘And if she’s treating me to new Marks knickers then I’m all in…’ she whispers. ‘Just not thongs though, I just don’t get them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I wasn’t in your line of work. You waxed and kept that area tidy. My whole situation down there is Amazonian.’
I lean on her as I burst into laughter.
‘Would the explorers get lost?’
‘Yes, they’d need machetes to hack away at the undergrowth.’
My mum’s face appears again. ‘Girls, we are in Marks and Spencer,’ she mumbles, like we might be in church. These middle-class people won’t be able to handle our pube chat. Heads will explode. Naturally, I need to rile my mother up so I grab a pair of supportive-looking Lycra pants and wear them on my head.
‘LUCY!’
‘Is this a better way to wear knickers? I don’t quite know,’ I say, striking a pose to model them appropriately, like the mannequin at the end of the aisle.
Beth sniggers quietly but more so at the panic in our mother’s face. Lucy, you can’t get us banned from Marks & Spencer. Mum will have nothing of value in her life any more if she can’t come in here. Mum tries to grab them off my head but I am too quick and wily for her. I may do the running man in them for the laughs. She manages to grab them and puts them in the basket.
‘Who are those for?’ I ask. ‘I’ve seen ships with smaller sails.’
‘Well, you’ve worn them on your head. I have to buy them now,’ she moans.
‘It’s not like I wore them properly and went lunging around the shop. Christ, Mum…’
‘Remember where you are… behave yourselves…’
Beth bites her lip. We should be following Mum around like little nuns on a day out, bowing our heads in reverence to the surroundings and not looking the lingerie directly in the eye.
‘She’s right, Mum. Those are thirty-pound knickers. It’s not like she left them with skid—’
Mum puts her hand in the air before Beth even has time to finish that sentence then points to a place far away from her. We do as we’re told though I may have time to grab the bum of a mannequin while she can still see us. I think the look she gives us points to her disowning us officially. Beth pulls me away before I can go do anything worse with the mannequin.
‘You did that once when I went maternity bra shopping. You wore the bras on your head to prove to me how big my norks were,’ Beth tells me.
I smile to know I run with a theme when shopping for underwear.
