It was Barb Taub that started me thinking, with her collection of gems learned over the years. One in particular I recognised and yet, on the five occasions when I have been rushed to hospital in an ambulance, all sirens wailing and my life or limbs in the balance, I can honestly say that no-one has ever passed comment on the state of my underwear.
On one of these occasions, underwear was absent from the equation altogether because I was wearing nightclothes when disaster struck. On another, all garments had either melted with the heat or been hastily ripped off to prevent further burns. It would not have mattered a jot whether the pertinent articles had been pristine cotton, lacy confections or the over-washed grey of comfort. They had to go.
In fairness to Great Granny, who had impressed upon me the need for unimpeachable unmentionables, at no time was…
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