I was 14 when my grandmother bought me an ivy green, satin bra. I loved it at first sight. It was an underwire, fit perfectly, and was elegant in style with stunning folds of fabric pinching toward the bottom centre where the two cups kissed in matrimony (you know.. the bit where they join in the centre yeah?). It made my little plums look plump, and pretty, just as I was in the emergent phase of discovering the wonder of cleavage. Come to think of it, GRANNY?? … buying me a bra? What’s with that? Looking back, it was quite fascinating, and certainly not the usual thing a granny would get a granddaughter.
And granny being granny, God Bless her, loved a bargain. In fact, still holding close to her heart the good old war days, Granny was more of a cheapskate than a bargain hunter (sorry granny!). The bra therefore arrived without its matching panties. However, recognising my sheer delight of having received such an adult present, granny then ensued on a journey to find the bra’s matching knickers. We spent my school holidays digging around in ‘bargain bins’ with my flat chested little sister, hunting. We never found them. Well, not then we didn’t.
I remember it being a really loooong time, it must have been about a year, by which time lovely ivy green bra was God knows where! On one of Granny’s epic shopping trips which by now had become a sight of my sister and I shifting and hiding behind shelves, while thanking God that she lived out of town, she found it. Of course it was in a bargain bin, at some shady little shop in the rather rotten part of town. With a delighted expression on her face, and a voice to put a crying baby to shame she held the panties high in the air with her hands pegged onto each side and said: “Philly! Look what I’ve found! They match perfectly!” This time, instead of a whispered prayer, God got a song of praise to thank Him that she lived out of town.
To be honest though, I really didn’t mind. In reality I thought my granny was extremely cool. A lady well into her 70’s holding up a G-string in the centre of a shop must have been a pretty funny sight though. The fact that not only did she let me wear a G-String, but she actually encouraged it, seemed kind of cool. I was impressed.
Unfortunately, the G-String didn’t actually match the bra. It was satin yes, and green yes. But the shade was slightly lighter than the bra. Nonetheless, I wore it still. It may have been found at the bottom of a bargain bin, but my granny spent a long time searching for that one little item to bring me happiness in the best way she knew how. I never told her that they didn’t match, but I happily accepted her gesture, and about a year later, the G-string was also God knows where.
Philippa Morton is a journalist, restaurant critic and entertainment writer living in London. Her portfolio expands to dating and relationships http://breakupwithbrilliance.wordpress.com/ and education. Follow her on twitter @philippamorton