Panty Raid

I don’t much like it when my kids dig around in my purse. It’s such a violation of my privacy. The other day my older daughter, E, hunted for some gum in my purse, which by the way does not go well with braces, when she pulled out a wad of cloth from the bottom and asked me, “Are those your panties? Gross!”

I looked in my purse and saw she was right, those were indeed my panties. The bright red pair with tiny clusters of stars, like constellations, all over them. “I’ve been wondering where those were. Thanks!” I said to her, shoving them back into the bottom of my bag.

 “Why do you have panties in your purse, Mom?” she asked me, which reminded me of two things. First, never ask a question you don’t really want the answer to. And secondly, I am not obligated to answer every question my children ask.

 “That is an excellent question,” I answered, thereby not answering at all.

My panties had been forgotten in the bottom of my purse for about two weeks, which was the last time my husband and I went out, sans children, on a date. We have been married a long time, and like a lot of couples, we tend to focus more on raising our children and less on our marriage. We had no parties or other social obligations, so we decided to get a babysitter and go to the movies.

 When our babysitter arrived, we rushed out the door, eager to enjoy a little adult time. We got to the theater and before exiting the car, I hiked up my skirt and took my panties off. I showed them to my husband, then stuffed them in my purse.

“What are you doing?” he asked me.
 “Taking off my panties,” I told him. “Dark movie theater, no children, endless possibilities.”

I don’t know why I like to think my life should read like a Penthouse Forum letter, but every once in a while, I prefer that option to the reality of grocery shopping, dinner cooking, laundry folding, and chauffeur driving that makes up the majority of my time. If all it takes to make a regular day feel like a vacation for two is losing the undies in a parking lot, well, then, seems kind of worth it, doesn’t it?

We rarely go see a movie that doesn’t involve animation, and the only movie I had heard of that was playing was a George Clooney film called “The Descendants.” I knew next to nothing about the movie other than George Clooney was in it and that is was set in Hawaii, and that seemed like reason enough to slip off my panties. We skipped the popcorn because A. we weren’t hungry and B. I didn’t want to smell like fake butter down there if anything untoward were to happen. (And for those of you who think/know I don’t have a filter, let the record show I didn’t take that particular image any farther. I made no comments about seafood and melted butter, or big greasy tubs or slippery fingers or anything.)

Spoiler Alert!! Have you seen that movie? Well, again, I didn’t know what it was about. Now I do. It’s about an emotionally distant man and his dying cheating wife and his shitty marriage and worthless children and oh my God, the last thing anyone should do during that movie is anything involving fingers and removed panties. Even my husband wiped a tear or two from his eye. After the movie ended and the audience composed itself, we all left in a solemn line towards the parking lot. The fact that I was going commando was totally forgotten in the emotional aftermath of that depressing fucking movie. We went home, paid the babysitter, and watched the news. I might as well have put on a flannel nightgown and mended some socks.

Yes, I forgot I wasn’t wearing panties that night, and for the next two weeks, until the tween discovered the evidence of my attempt at marital spice in the bottom of my handbag. My purse is not that different from my gym bag, or a black hole; whatever makes its way into any of them gets sucked in and forgotten, never to be seen again. Unless a nosy kid starts poking around, in which case I either have to fess up or deflect.

 What I have learned is this: never, ever eat anything from the bottom of a purse. No old cough drops. No unwrapped mints. No stray Skittles. Nothing. In fact, don’t even carry edible things in your handbag, so that way no one will think of it as a pantry. And also, next time, I am shoving my panties in the cup holder of his car. Then he can answer the question of why are Mom’s panties in the car console. That is, if there is a next time.