Here’s another of those sketches I wrote while living in Paris back in the 1980’s. (The previous ones were April in Paris and The Men of Paris.
I didn’t get much sleep last night thinking about
underwear
Have you ever stopped to consider underwear in the
abstract
When you really dig into it
some shocking problems are raised
Underwear is something we all have to deal with
Everyone wears
some kind of underwear….
From the poem, Underwear, by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
What kind of underwear people do, or don’t wear never used to interest me much. Until I went to the Club Gymnase in Paris. Three times weekly, after my aerobics class, I find myself jammed into a steamy room with sweating women from a culture very different from my own. What’s the biggest difference between them and me?
Their undergarments. No, I correct myself. That utilitarian word, undergarment, doesn’t work here at all. Their lingerie.
Frothy bits of lace for bras. Low cut or sheer, black, red, or pink. Panties that always coordinate with the bra, little ruffled bits cut high on the hips, or thongs. Satiny camisoles with lace-edged tap pants. Garter belts holding up white lace stockings. Silk. Lots of silk.
