Underfarewell

I'm just bidding adieu to old lingerie. This might be inappropriate content, but it's got to be an improvement on the fruit double entendres.

There's something really sad about waving goodbye to a fabulous bra or a particularly effective pair of panties. Maybe boys feel the same way about their boxers. I know a few who certainly held on to theirs right up to the bitter end. I still think about a pair of stockings I had when I used to work in PR -- they were just the right shade and fit perfectly. I literally shed a tear when I finally ran them.

I'm cleaning out my closets and drawers in fits and spurts for my move, and so the old timers have to be left behind. So long, wrap-around miniskirt from Old Navy. Take care, fancy suit built for the 21 year old me...(fear not, the good stuff gets recycled at a store nearby.)

This particular eulogy is for my Calvin Klein pink luxury lace underwire bra. She's been with me through thick and thin, single and dating, silk and cotton. Even when the panties went awry, the brassiere stayed solid. I looked fabulous at work, at play, in every way. But then the lace got the slightest bit frayed (feels a little Dr. Seuss here, doesn't it!?), the underwire creaked once in a while. I knew it was just a matter of time.

So I commit you to the earth (or at least to my rat-tastic garbage), fair pink friend. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.