Granny panties

So it finally happened. The day I’ve been dreading with great anxiety and the day which became a milestone turning point for me. I am mortified to admit that I now own 2 pairs of giant sized granny panties. In my defence, I must explain the reason how I came to own these gigantic knickers with cerise blossoms splashed all over them.

I recently went to Centane and did some shopping. Centane has the hustle and bustle of a “town” and I love shopping there even though there is not much variety. At the deli in Shoprite you can buy a piece of fried chicken, chicken feet, a quarter loaf of bread with a fried egg slapped on top, giblets and pap or red viennas. They cater for Xhosa taste buds so you won’t find things like croissants, lasagne or corn dogs. Back in Cape Town you have to dodge eager charity workers who shake their coin tins in front of shop entrances hoping you will part with your spare change for the blind, the needy, paraplegics or cancer patients. Here you have to dodge chickens, goats, mangy dogs, garbage and the wheelbarrow brigade who offer to carry your groceries to the nearest taxi.

You will find Pep Stores in every remote corner of South Africa clothing our nation, keeping skin moist with Dawn body cream, Black Like Me hair oils and underwear in large, XL and XXL sizes. These days their rival Chinese shops are also opening up in every corner of Africa selling every imaginable plastic item, shoes and clothing but they cater for midgets which are not the average size of most African women.

Anyway, there I was, scanning the underwear shelf and musing over how my taste in underwear seemed to have changed over the years. It seemed like only yesterday that G-strings and floss were quite comfortable to wear. Somewhere along the way, I gained a few kilos and I discovered wonderfully comfortable stretchy boy leg brooks work better at covering cellulite. The transition happened comfortably except I noticed Theo didn’t find my new Lycra skin colour briefs as enticing as the previous lace thongs.

The sound of Xhosa women babbling away around me brought me back to reality and I found myself staring at the more functional knickers. You know, the florally ones which come in packs of 3 which Woolworth s have been selling since the days when the castle in Cape Town was still a tent. Anyway, I grabbed a pack of what I thought was bikini size but instead it turned out to be full size. Very full size indeed as I discovered a few days later when I opened the packet and unrolled meters and meters of floral cerise printed cotton. I stepped into two gaping holes while the shocking pink flowers expanded across my arse and half way up my back where the cerise blossoms finally ended inches below my armpits.

I’ll need at least 6 pegs to hang my granny panties on the wash line for all the world to see. But do you wanna know a secret? They fit as snug as a bug in a rug.