Was that really 6 weeks?
I guess so, as we have rather abruptly arrived at the half-term break.
I can’t say I am not happy to be here though, as despite not having any time off, which is a first, it will be nice to have the mornings to myself before I go to work. Already, I am looking forward to Monday morning and savoring my first coffee of the day, while sitting down for five minutes, instead of grabbing a cold mouthful as I fly through the kitchen, on my way to shout at one of the kids for still being in bed or hogging the bathroom (not Tom obviously).
In all honesty the chances of me actually dragging my arse out of bed at the same time in the mornings are slim. It is a much more likely scenario that the temptation to have an extra 15 minutes under the duvet will trump even a warm cup of coffee, especially now the mornings are so dark and gloomy.
I am almost in hibernation mode. Eating more, sleeping more, moving less, even my legs are furrier than they should be. The perils of not dating I’m afraid.
I am still not missing it, at all. Which I am quite surprised about to be honest.
I thought that by now I would be finger twitching, especially in the evenings. Well, lets face it, dark nights and depressing TV soaps are enough to send anyone off in search of some excitement and I don’t usually need much encouragement, but I am really not keen. On the odd nights when I have thought about it, which is usually only when Tom and Elsie are off gallivanting somewhere and I am left home alone, it only takes a split second for me to remember that in order to find a date, I have to re-do my ‘about me’ and all of a sudden Emmerdale becomes much more appealing prospect.
I am so sick of writing about me (says the weird girl who writes a blog about herself), talking about me and trying to be more than just me, I just can’t. I can’t think of anything else to say about me that I haven’t already said before and seeing as it didn’t work the first, or the second time, I am a bit loath to try a third. What else can I say that might by some miracle appeal in some way to my mystical soul mate, who may or may not be only a profile away?
Beside this week I have been busy trying to make a few quid. Which in the grand scheme of things seems much more important. To hell with all the people who say money can’t buy happiness, as far as I can tell love doesn’t pay the sodding bills. I do!
Therefore, in an effort to pay some, I thought I would sell some of my extensive knicker range.
Over the last few years and even more so since I have been in and out of the dating game, I have gathered a whole other wardrobe of lingerie. An eclectic mix of the pretty, tasteful and elegant alongside the cheap, plastic and sometimes painful. There is a little something for everyone. Nice knickers, nasty knickers and barely there knickers. Catsuits, play-suits, lace ups and leather. A whole heap of stuff that may, or may not, ever be worn again.
Some of it I love and will keep… just in case, but after having a sentimental look through it all and reminiscing over some fun times, I decided to get shot of some of it. After all, I often have the urge to buy more, even when I am not dating. Therefore, it’s out with the old.
Now, there is some debate about the buying and selling of second-hand underwear, some will and some won’t, but underwear, especially some of the more racy or specialist stuff, is really quite expensive. On the whole I have the theory that you can only sell something if someone wants to buy it and generally someone will. There is, apparently, a market for everything, as I soon found out.
I listed some very basic stuff to start with, lingerie sets mostly and some fancy knickers. The knickers were satin feel, quite old fashioned looking with contrast edging and were full briefs, I hadn’t actually worn these with the exception of one pair, there were three in total and I had only worn one pair for around an hour, tops. Not long after I listed them I had a message to asking if I had any other knickers for sale. I replied and said that over the next few days I would be listing various items and asked if they were looking for something specific?
That was my first mistake.
The conversation that followed was slightly baffling to say the least.
So, to cut a rather long winded and very awkward conversation short, I guessed, I think correctly, that the buyer in question was looking for a dirty pair of knickers. I deduced at the end of our chat (after some detective work that would make Vera proud), that he was prepared to pay £20.00 for just one pair of the knickers, but only on the condition that I wore them for twenty fours hours before posting them.
Weirdly, my first thought was NOT, Ew! You dirty git.
No. My first thought was, how will he complain if they are not dirty enough? I can only imagine it would go something like this…
Do you want to resolve an issue?
Yes. I do. I ordered some dirty knickers and when they came (pardon the pun) they weren’t smelly enough and there were hardly any stains!
I thought about this for a moment or three and decided that I really couldn’t decide if this was a good idea or not? I was also a bit concerned that my over all thought was about the money. After all, twenty quid isn’t going to keep us warm for the Winter.
How much is enough? If they are really dirty can I get more?
Perhaps I should have a cup of coffee and wait for my morals to appear.
There have been times in my life when I have considered many a ‘get-rich-quick’ scheme, some of them quite recent, but sadly and after much research, most of them turn out to be quite a lot of work for not a lot of money. I also know that the buying and selling of dirty knickers is not a new thing. It seems that in the world of sex and how you get your kicks there is little or nothing that can not be bought and sold these days. In the past I have looked in to chat lines and sexting and all sorts of ways to try and make a quick buck, but nothing is as easy as people would have you believe, at least that is how it seems to me.
This is also not the first time I have reveived an odd request. Someone once offered me money to wash MY kitchen floor, naked (obviously) and with me standing over him telling him how useless he was. My first thought is never that it is wrong, only that the amount of money offered never seems to match the task. Maybe you have to start small to earn big!
I declined. Not because I didn’t fancy getting my floors washed for free, that was very tempting indeed, but I didn’t know him from Adam. The deal was, his floor first, mine one day, maybe. Never heard from him since. Surprised? No, me either.
Anyway, the other thing that made me slightly anxious about the whole knicker thing was… wait for it… What if he/she didn’t like my smell? Imagine that complaint! Oh! The embarrassment. I’d be scarred for life.
I know at this moment in time I am not having sex but I do hope to, in the not too dim and distant future and that is a worry I could definitely do without.
It’s funny how something so innocent can turn into something so thought provoking.
I really do not have a problem with people buying and selling whatever takes their fancy, I see no real harm in people supplying dirty knickers for people who want to buy them. Do I want to sell mine? I’m not sure.
In a way it seems like such an easy thing to do. Fast money. It’s what drives so many of us, how we can make money with little or no effort. How can we tap in to the next crazy quirk or be one step ahead of the next big thing, surely in the multi-billion dollar industry that is sex, a new fad is waiting just around the corner.
These are not new fads though, the days of husbands and lovers keeping the panties of their partners, is age old.
There is something almost romantic, in a Cary Grant kind of way, as you imagine (in black and white, of course), your devilishly handsome man arrives home after your secret tryst. He pours a glass of whiskey and pulls your panties out of his trouser pocket, inhaling the scent as he reminisces with a smile.
A guy I dated quite recently was always very keen to keep my knickers afterwards, it has always been a thing, I think? I was never too bothered about it, although you do go through a few pairs. I always wondered if he used to wear them but I think he just liked the souvenir. He probably has a trophy cupboard full of them and not just mine. Is that sinister or not?
The strange thing about this though is, I don’t know who this is and he/she doesn’t know me. They have no idea what I smell like or have any connection to me whatsoever. They have no clue if I am young or old, black or white, I am whatever they want me to be, a figment of their imagination, an image conjured up by a smell.
Another quirky little kink.
If only I had thought this one up, I could be on my way to my first million! 😉