knickers to it
this morning, i had one of those experiences that makes a person (a person like me) shriek, “what’s wrong with people?!” at a very high decibel. i’d be honoured if you’d let me share it with you. (it involves knickers, if that swings it…)
i was headed to my desk to finish an article i’ve been slaving over, and i noticed there was a pair of knickers (mine, clean, plain cotton, don’t get excited) on a plant in the communal garden outside.
i could see what had happened: they had escaped from the washing line over the weekend. when my mum brought in the washing yesterday, she hadn’t seen the knickers lying abandoned and only in the clear light of day were they, well, clearly visible.
i didn’t exactly jump up to do something about it. because i didn’t think it was that big a tragedy - things have fallen off the washing line before, a t-shirt here, a sock there, and somehow i’ve managed to deal with it. i made a mental note (promptly forgotten) to ask my mum to grab them on her way out or when she next went outside (seeing as i was in my PJs and planning to stay that way). then i pulled up my article and got to work.
a couple of hours later, when i’d moved on to writing about biometric scanners and laverne and shirley (god, i loved that show!) i heard an infernal banging at the door - like the force of ten men. then i heard a whisper.
“diane… there’s someone at the door.”
“i know mum,” i whispered back… “who is it?”
now i know of course there’s a foolproof way to find out, which is to open the door, but my mum was about to have a shower and i was in the aforementioned PJs (yes, still). the post had been delivered, we weren’t expecting a parcel, the meter readers had been the previous week, and so, our rationing went, it couldn’t be good news at the door. so we waited.
then came the infernal banging at the window! what madman was this?
“it better not have been a delivery,” i whispered, as we heard the sound of something pushed through the letterbox.
when we were sure the banger had gone, i went to look. and it was… knickers. my knickers. what the…?
then we heard the creak of stairs and the door of the upstairs flat go bang.
our upstairs neighbour. the one who “can’t do anything else” (apart from look disdainful) about the noise from their television. she had seen the knickers in the plant, and taken it upon herself to rescue them. despite the fact that she had no other business in the garden at the time and it involved trekking up and down stairs to do so.
and then, instead of quietly and discreetly posting them, or leaving them in a subtle place, she decided to bang on our windows and door as if it was a matter of national importance that she embarrass me as fully as possible.
what was her motivation - to let me know that people round here do not put their underwear on top of plants and leave them there? to let me know what a great knicker salvation worker she was? or to comment on the size, style and colour? i’m sorry lady, but you don’t know me well enough to knock on my door whilst holding my underwear.
the implication is that we’re the slobby kind of folks who think chucking underwear around is okay, and we need her to educate us otherwise. but how up in other people’s business do you need to be to care that much about their knickers that you take it upon yourself to ‘rescue’ them from… what, public ridicule? i doubt more than four people had seen them, and it really wasn’t international - and what’s more, who effing cares?
well, my neighbour for one. and clearly, she wants me to know it.
please tell me i’m not the only one who finds this crazy…
