The mere word makes me shudder – ‘Lllliinnggeerrrrie’, ugh. Any man that thinks it might be a good idea to buy me some in the future had better be prepared for a bit of disappointment. The hearts & flowers, oh so alluring picture painted by many a fashion designer, hotel, restaurant, chocolate maker and match maker is, a load of complete rubbish.
The first time a man bought me lingerie I was 17, he was 18, mature for his age and a guy with expensive tastes. And clearly someone who was prepared to betray his studenty, goth, beer swilling roots. I arrived home from University for Christmas, the unopened present tucked under my arm as I was met at the train station by my parents and sister. After much berating I had no choice but to open the carefully wrapped, bow on top elephant in the room, well large box taking up half of the back seat of the car, truth be told.
I slid the lid off the box and was mesmerised when all I could see inside was cream silk and there wasn’t much of it. As I took the Camisole top out of the box by its two tiny, delicate straps my sister bellowed to ‘Look, oh my God! There’s knickers as well!’, my mother’s face was one of pure horror and when my father turned to see what was going on he nearly crashed the car. My mother took me aside later on to that while the present was very beautiful, she wondered how my boyfriend knew where to buy such eh, items. She also said that my father had never bought her ‘anything like that’ and he wouldn’t have a clue how to go about it. You read that I was 17, right? Absolute mortification.