Yes, I awoke on Tuesday morning to find my underwear right there on my sunny block, on the sunny sidewalk, and it got me thinking about all those underwear stories.
I will never forget the time Amber told me the story of a woman throwing out her old under things in a spring cleaning. That afternoon she came home and her young daughter said loud and clear for everyone on the street to hear, “Look, mommy, your underwear!” pointing to her undergarments strewn all about the street. That is what would happen in New York, your trash was pillaged for finds, and often left scattered about. After hearing that one, I was always careful about what I threw out and how. I made sure the personal things were in the same bag as smelly food and cat litter. That generally kept the gleaners away.
Back in the day, when I was a snotty punk rock sex symbol with Bridgette Bardot hair, a tiny dress, bare feet and a 1964 Gibson SG I used to say on stage “Everyone who is here to see my underwear can go home, because I am not wearing any.” Ah yes, to be young and subversive.
Once on a cross-country trip with a pal, I got out of the car in the parking lot of the one nice restaurant we went to the whole trip. I had on high heel mules and a tiny suede skirt that I had made, held together by a safety pin. As I stood in the gravel lot, I sneezed and the pin pooped and I stood there in my heel and underwear.
Then there are the volumes of stories I can’t tell…..
Till next time dear ones.