I know that women have this problem, so I’m assuming that men have been partial to a bit of knicker dropping in their time as well. Go on admit it. You’ve all dropped them at some point. I have to admit that up until this point all my knicker dropping has been done in the seclusion of my own home. Never in public. Come close a few times but decorum and a sense of modesty have always prevailed. That is until last Sunday.
I wear jeans. They are comfortable and practical for all things Jenny. Walking through the woods with a disobedient dog. Trust me if she wore knickers she’d have dropped them every five minutes the way she was cocking her tail in the air to anything she fancied. I wear jeans around the house, shopping, going out and usually if I can get away with it, to work as well.
Saturday had been a bit hectic, we went to an air show. Not a big air show but a rather exclusive show. Mark had worked on the Buccaneers when he was in the RAF and when the opportunity arose to see his beloved aeroplanes again, (Bound to have got that wrong, they’ll be jets or summat, and he’ll point it out no doubt.) he jumped at the chance. Best jeans on with Safety Knickers in place we spent the day in Leicestershire, bumping into Mark’s old friends and people he had known many years ago.
Interlude: Safety Knickers are those you know that will not let you down. The type that stay in place and are pretty enough to be seen by a paramedic if anything happens. These knickers are different to Comfy Knickers, which are usually well worn, inevitably black and cover the parts that others would not describe as midriff but flab and thunder thighs.
Safety Knickers on, jeans and a sweatshirt I was ready for anything. Anything that is except the power of wind that waffles across an airfield. It was hard work standing up, I’ll tell you.
Home and flustered I stripped off for bed without a second thought. The next day I went over to my friends with the dog, bearing food on foot. Food on foot is my version of meals on wheels. I batch cook and spread the love. Actually, I just pop around the corner and deliver food to my friend that is struggling at the moment after a dodgy incident with a log. It’s amazing the damage falling off a log can cause. I did ask what he was doing in the middle of the woods at midnight imitating an elf but only got a fit of giggles followed by “OH, OUCH, SHUGAR, SH**, and SH**E, apparently making him laugh eradicates the entire episode from his memory.
I didn’t notice anything untoward. Trotted back without a care in the world and felt really good having had a great laugh at someone else’s expense and doing my good deed for the day.
Settled down at the movies we watched “The Endgame”, in the knowledge that the monster Rottweiler Wannabe, AKA Pippa the Jack Staffy cross, wasn’t going to be annoying the neighbours by doing her duty and barking at every would-be intruder. I mean to say, of course the woman hanging her clothes out on the line three houses down is going to leap over two fences, break down my back door, steal Pip’s smelly Sprat treats and make off with my favourite Pilot Pen. So, Pip is going to bark at her. The women being 87 doesn’t mean that our Pip isn’t going to give her full warning if she decides to break in. Pip was safely ensconced with the invalid, and we could have a relaxing afternoon watching a movie. And what a Movie, no spoilers, but WOW. Definitely calls for a marathon Marvel weekend.
Relaxed and having put the petty row we had on the way there to bed we drove home. It was really petty and I know I was right but as per usual Mark was also right. It began the day before, not that we drag things out. The post man had left one of those red cards in the door, the “You weren’t here so instead of leaving your letter at the nearest post office, I’m going to take it all the way back to the depot and make you drive into the centre of town on a Sunday to pick up the bloody letter. Even though I’m not going to tell you who it’s for, I’ll just write the surname down, I’ll let you guess.”
I hate being late for anything and Mark deciding to go to town half an hour before we were due to leave was infuriating. But I’m practicing my own mantra. Accept and take responsibility. I accept that Mark can be an infuriating idiot and that he believes he is a time traveller who can defy the odds when it comes to being on time. I take responsibility for the fact that I am a belligerent old cow, (have to get that in, it’s my word of the week) and I have to whinge about everything.
He made it back with ten minutes to spare before the film started. It takes ten minutes to get there, five to park and get to the cinema and another ten at least to get served with popcorn and drinks. Marks excuse, it doesn’t matter because you have half an hour of adverts to get through. My excuse, but when we went to see Shakespeare’s Macbeth it started on time and they wouldn’t let you in once it was started.
We were both right and wrong. He should have been on time, and I shouldn’t be so mardy about things that don’t make a difference. Don’t suppose it will ever change.
We turned in the side road that led to the cul-de-sac where four hours earlier we had dumped, erh, left the dog. There was a pair of knickers on the pavement and I laughed. Someone must have lost them. They were really nice knickers. I had a pair just like them.
You know what’s coming. The brain did the rerun. Safety Knickers, yesterday, undressing, getting up, showering, grabbing clean knickers, putting on jeans, and putting the dirty knickers in the….nope, don’t remember that bit. Oh My God, penny dropping wasn’t the first thing I had dropped that day. A vision of walking down the road as the silky safe underwear must have worked its way down my leg so smoothly that I hadn’t noticed. They weren’t cheap either. They had to be mine. I recognised them.
Had I been seen?
Had Mark seen them?
Would some nice kind good looking gentleman turn up on the doorstep and hand them to me declaring, “You dropped something?”
The mind went into overdrive and the Hot Flush hit me just as we pulled up outside my friend’s house.
“You Ok?” Mark enquired.
“Yes, yer I’m fine. Just a hot flush. The film was good.” I stammered.
Mark began the conversation regarding the film and I was grateful for the reprieve.
The day ended, pup in her bed sulking because we had left her behind. Honestly, she would have hated the movie, Lassie is not an Avenger. We settled down with a cup of tea.
“Did you see those knickers in the road on the way back?” he asked
“Knickers,” I almost spat the tea out.
“Yer, there was a pair of black knickers on the pavement on the way back from Chris’”
“Really?” I expressed false shock.
“Not the type of thing you would wear, silky looking things. Suppose someone had a good night last night.” He chuckled and I seethed. I’m belligerent, remember, look it up.
“What do you mean, not the type of thing I’d wear?”
Now at this point I could have given myself away as the phantom knicker dropper or I could have happily just giggled and let it slip past never to darken our conversations again. But once again, I’m belligerent. (Ok that’s enough I’ll stop now, you get the picture)
“Well they were black and silky and rather sexy, the sort of thing a girl would wear on a first date, not like the undies you wear.”
I supressed the urge to shout out. “So, my undies aren’t sexy huh!”
Shocked he reply, “NO, why should they be, they never stay on long enough for anything like that. I mean…”
The look I gave him as my inner self leapt out with both hands grabbing him around the neck and shouting, “I do wear sexy knickers you know, you just never take any bloody notice,” must have worked.
He hurriedly added, “I mean you always get undressed and get into bed before me, so I never get a chance to see your knickers.”
He saved himself as my ethereal vision took her hands off his throat and drifted back into my body.
“Oh I see what you mean.” I sipped my tea and asked if we could watch a Star Trek. Agreeing he began the masterful art of fluffing about with the remote controls to watch TV.
This morning I brought out the twin set of red knickers and bra, squeezed my oversized bits into the sexy undies and was in the uncomfortable position of wishing I hadn’t put them on. I paraded around the bedroom, laid back on the bed, and showed off my wears, Mark got up, whinged about his back ache and got ready for work.
I began to think he hadn’t noticed when he leant over and quietly said, “Love the undies, same sort as the knickers that were on the pavement. Matching set I see. Do you have a bra like that in Black?”
“I do,” I said, so pleased that he had noticed.
“You might need to go shopping at the weekend get some new matching knickers then.”
He left for work, I was left in shock. I think I owe him an explanation!