2006-02-20

The Big Underpants, Part One

So, as anyone who lives in or around Boston knows, the once-mighty Filene's has fallen. In a matter of weeks, its doors will close forever (thankfully, the Basement - the city's second most popular tourist attraction and home to the annual event known as "The Running of the Brides" - is not affected by the closing of Filene's "proper").

It's the really the end of Boston's Downtown Crossing as we know it, with both of its home-grown department stores (in addition to Filene's, we had Jordan Marsh, which got swallowed up by Macy's several years ago) now gone.

At any rate, I've been to Filene's a bunch of times over the weekend, to say goodbye and to take advantage of its massive liquidation sale. It was in-between trips that I had my BIG IDEA, chickens. And believe you me when I say that it's BIG.

I was on the messagebored discussing various Filene's-related thangs with one of the chickens, when the topic of Filene's rather, er, "elderly" lingerie department came up. The Filene's dirty unmentionables department is huge, easily taking up half a level, but it's very BEIGE. There's the occasional rack of cute-n-nasties, but by and large you're dealing with housedresses, support garments and huge, giant underpants.

I found myself completely charmed by the very idea of these enormous underthings, and jokingly declared that I was going to buy a pair and wear them in all earnestness. And then I thought, "Well, why the fuck not?" Let's even take it a step further and make it a PROJECT. Because it would not only be interesting from a sociological standpoint, it would help me tackle a few of my vanity issues (because believe it or not, I have 'em, despite the fact that I've spent years playing in a band where I've had to don all manner of horrible outfits).

And, indeed, my first challenge was to overcome my initial fear of the big underpants, and select what would be the most effectively awful pair. I mean, you figure, they're big, they're beige, they're all the same, right? WRONG. I wanted mine to scream "pathos." I found a sad pair that were piped with a defiantly proud bit of lace around the leg-holes, as if this made them anything more than utilitarian, beige, HUGE-ASSED GRANNY PANTIES.

I somewhat mitigated the horror of what I was about to do by also sticking a black satin nightie in the crook of my arm.

Oscar de la Renta, chickens. 50% off. I digress.

Next, I scanned the lingerie department for an available cashier. There were two. One was a tough old cookie, one of those grizzled veterans that's probably been working there since the Korean War. She would not even look twice at my purchases as she rang them up and unceremoniously stuffed them into a bag.

The other was a thin, pretty blonde with a French accent. She may be working in the Filene's underpants department, but she is most definitely sporting La Perla on her own behind.

Here was my second challenge, chickens. If I was going to take this all the way, there could be NO painless, humiliation-free escape hatches at ANY step of the way. I chose Frenchie.

She rang up my nightie and cooly explained that "thiss ees a fiy-nuhl zale and is feefty purrcent off." She then picked up my christly HUGE underpants with her impeccably manicured fingertips and said, "Theez PANTEEZ are onlee thirtee purrcent off."

I detected a smirk as she regarded them.

I stuffed them into my bag, muttered my thanks, and beat a fast retreat.

It is here, chickens, that I must show you all the HORROR of the BIG UNDERPANTS. You really need to SEE them in order to fully appreciate the depth and scope of this project.

Almost worth the price of the underpants was its accompanying tag:

Yes, that says "VANITY FAIR." Somehow I don't think Thackeray had these trunkers in mind when he developed the character of Becky Sharp.

You can't read it very well, but at the bottom it reads Sophisticated full coverage style. Oh, it's full coverage all right. When I tried them on they reached clear on up to just underneath my bra. I giddily pranced into the middle room, where the houseboy was listening to Charlie Parker and working on a paper for his Comparative Constitutional Law class. "Lookit meeee!"

He turned around and regarded me with stony silence.

"Aren't I sexxxxxxeeeeee?!"

"No. No you're not."

He totally wasn't playing along.

So the real challenge comes tomorrow, chickens, when I wear these in the changing room at my gym.

Just for you, chickens. Only for you.

Stay tuned...

lisamcc at 6:18 p.m.

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