My Underpants Are Disgraceful But My Girlfriends Are Tops

22nd June 2016

I had a story in last weekend’s Sunday Life magazine about the joy of girlfriends. It contains that gold-star anecdote about the time I accidentally showed a topless selfie to the deputy principal, and also this tale:

Home from holidays recently, I faced a towering pile of laundry. My friend S came over to help me fold and bring me up to speed on the local goings-on, but she lost her train of thought each time she encountered a pair of my knickers.

She was horrified on a number of levels - age, bagginess, general nanna vibe.

“I’m staging an underpants intervention,” she said.

Yesterday I found a paper bag in my letterbox containing two pairs of new knickers and a letter from The Ministry of Unacceptable Underpants, beginning: “It has come to our attention that you have not renewed your underpants at the recommended intervals. By following our quick checklist you can ensure the reliability and safety of your underpants.”

The list was exhaustive. It included the following questions: can you see through any part of your underpants that were once opaque? Does the elastic around your underpants hold the garment securely in place? Is the integrity of the gusset still acceptable? Can a breeze enter through any part of your underwear?

The Ministry gave me four weeks to update my collection, after which they warned of direct community action.

While underwear-shaming and accidental sexting scandals are key components to my female friendships, this community has another function. We are a safety net for life and all its unpredictable slings and arrows. Here, deep in the trenches with small children, we lean on each other for help. Any time one of us drops, the machine rolls into action. Lasagnes land on doorsteps and schedules to manage the kids start circulating. There is a direct and practical aspect to my female friendships: when we have to be responsible, we are. And when we bundy off the responsibility clock, we are absolutely ridiculous, making each other laugh until our weak pelvic floors give way.

These moments, cackling in the coven of my witches, bring me such joy. They are the icing on the cake of life.

Read the rest at Daily Life online.

It’s a love letter to all the ladies in my life - word counts made me contain this story to only my beloved school mum gang, but I’m lucky enough to also have a school-friend gang, an online set of beloveds and a coven of Pink Ladies, all of whom hold sacred spaces in my heart.

Thank you, friends out there. I love youse all.