A poem by Renae Fouttit
I dreamed a dream one night in bed
Of underpants; blue, black and red
Of every style, shape and size
And suddenly I opened my eyes
And realised
Something had to be done!
About my undies collection…
Life Lessons With Reg
Lingerie Limericks by Emma Kate and Michael Hall; Danielle and Gillian Castray
Part 1 Reg
There was a young man who wore undies.
His mum told him they were called “grundies”.
Although he was thirty,
they got very dirty.
Which is why they get washed on Sundies.
Part 2 Paulini
There was a hot chick called Paulini.
Who always wore her bikini.
Reg thought she was hot.
But he, so was NOT,
So she sped off with his Lamborghini
Part 3 Life’s Lessons
So here’s the point of the story.
Soiling your undies is gory.
It’s not cool to flirt,
If you are a squirt,
Bikini girls get all the glory
Inspired by Surfing
Here’s a few of the ways my creative energy is inspired by time out in the surf, or around it. I’ll share some of my stuff with you. If you’d like to share some of your sea inspired creative expression then “Wave to me!” Send your work in and we’ll put it in the “Wave to me” section of this site.
Cheers!
The sea is vast. It puts all my petty problems in to a different perspective.
As you look out to sea, it is usually uncluttered. Free. Clear. Reflecting on that, you can absorb the freedom and clarity and unclutter your head.
Are you a Briefs or Boxers Man?
Bruce Mullan explores the issues of underwear choices for men.
While we are on the topic of “undies” you need to know that guys have one heck of a big issue to deal with and for some of us it’s a lot bigger than others.
Not wanting to be the butt of someone’s joke (or is that the joke of someone’s butt) the question lingers; just what will we wear under our Armani suit, wrangler jeans or stubbies? There are two main options but the answer tells us a lot about the wearer.
Do we hang loose with the boxers or sit tight with the briefs? It’s a big question and some spend years of their life oscillating between the options trying to find a good fit.
Even within the two big options there are sub-options to consider.
First is the attire made famous by Batman and Robin and other superheroes. Skin tight, form-fitting, body hugging and rarely worn on the outside, is the brief. Called so for its size and costing more per square centimetre of elasticised cotton than any other male garment.
Should the briefs wearers go for white or colours, and are the fuller fits more convenient than the bikini brief. They are certainly a lot more modest when you’re caught with your pants down.
But then, the swim team wears with pride a lycra version. Known as the “speedo” for those in the team or the“budgie smuggler” for those who are not, some find it leaves too little to the imagination.
Boxers, once standard fare, now come in a host of exotic styles, colours and materials to make statements from shy and modest to bold and adventurous.
And if you are younger than 19 you can always choose to have more of the boxers showing above your descending beltline than below it. While those over that age may see the saggy baggy look as slovenly and untidy, some of your peers will identify it as the coolest statement.
It does however raise the question about whether it still warrants the tag of “underwear”.
Mind you, what brand and style is showing above the beltline is a very important matter. After all, who’d want to be caught dead wearing Rios in a change room full of Calvin Klein and AussieBums?
Now when I was a kid, things were different. There were only Bonds y-fronts and kids just wore mini versions of the dad undergarment together with the matching white singlet – or blue if you wore it on the outside.
And while it may not have been flash, our mothers constantly warned us against getting run over by a bus and being found out not having changed our undergarments fresh that morning.
C. Willett Cunnington and Phillis Cunnington wrote “The History of Underclothes” in 1951 claiming that the “plain prose” of men’s underwear was “in singular contrast to the poetical allurements worn by woman.”
My how things have changed. Just visit the local K-Mart for an educational tour of a variety of colours, styles, materials and prices Mr Willett could never have imagined in his wildest dreams.
Boxers or briefs hah! We now have boxer briefs, trunks, g-strings, jockstraps, thongs, full-rise, low-rise, medium-rise, square cut, box-cut, and the ever-shrinking bikini.
Last year’s fashion trend was the double waist band look. Fashion undies are expensive though, so cheapskates opted for the double undie option of bikini brief worn over medium rise to get a similar look.
And this year sees the advent of the “Wonderjock” featuring AussieBum’s all new pouch technology – a male version of the now famous “Wonderbra”.
This newest designer underwear accentuates the male ego by pushing the appendages forward so you can be “louder and prouder”, and enhance your assets.
So never again will the male ego need to stuff the proverbial pair of socks in the jocks to pretend that things are more substantial than they really are.
So what does our underwear say about us? Do we wear it with pride or embarrassment? And for whom is it worn, especially by those of us who will never lower our slacks to the sag undies-showing look?
As the Good Book says, with pun intended, the bottom line is this.
“The parts of the body that seem to be weaker are the ones we can’t do without. The parts that we think are less important we treat with special honour. The private parts aren’t shown. But they are treated with special care.”
And that just about covers everything.
More or less.
Service with a Smile
A memoir by Andrew Keys
It was not a normal day. It was moving day. I hate moving at the best of times. However I was very organised this time and had everything planned down to fine detail. There was one hitch and it involved my underwear.
I was already pretty upset this day as my almost out of warranty car had developed rust in the sunroof. No worries, it was going to be fixed under warranty. I just got home from finishing final sorting out of things for moving. Pulled up in the drive way and pushed the window button to make it go up. There was a big crash. The driver’s window reached closed and it just fell back down fully open. Damn! There was no way I could leave it like that. I was moving into the city and the car would be parked on the street till I sorted out my car space. I wasn’t prepared to leave it on the street with a window that would not close.
To cut a long story short, my car dealer was not very helpful after telling them this story and replied with “Sorry, cant help you. It’s Friday. Bring it in Monday.”
I replied, “I don’t think you heard me. I want it fixed today. It must be. I don’t even care if its not permanently fixed but the window must at least stay up.”
He surrendered, “Ok, ok bring it in.”
During the phone call I had started to strip off in to my packing clothes. I was down to my
Underpants and had pulled on a shirt when the call ended. I was so relieved they could help that I put my thongs on, got in the car and drove over to other side of town to my dealer. Because I was moving I had my important stuff in my briefcase, so I took that with me too. I got to the service department, walked in looking quite mad, red faced and all.
But, wow, I was so surprised. The staff were super nice to me. “Oh Mr Keys, so sorry, please go into the waiting room. Have a seat and we will get the window up as fast as we can.” Gee OK! At least 4 staff members attended to me taking keys, making me a coffee and getting me comfortable. Great!
As I sat down, I lent around my portly belly to put my brief case at my feet. I noticed that I was dressed in my thongs, my underpants, an old t shirt, and …no pants! I quickly put my brief case over my lap thinking “Oh bugger! What a sight I must be.”
No wonder I got so much attention. The car was ready in 30 minutes and I was on my way.
Bikini Bottoms
A memoir by Katy Edwards
It was one of the first bikinis to be created and sold on the Gold Coast and yes, it was a yellow and white polka dot bikini, just like in the song.
As a swim-wear fashion model I’d scored it at wholesale price after a parade job at Surfers. Worn with a golden tan, it really looked great. But believe it or not, I was rather shy about wearing it in public – I mean it showed off a whole lot of skin and was extremely daring for a seventeen year old in nineteen sixty-one.
The day was perfect and the boat-load of young holiday-makers from the Coolangatta Beach Houses was in fine form. We’d barbecued at Tipplers on South Stradbroke Island, had hiked and swum, flirted and sunbaked some more – with baby oil of course to make the skin bubble and boil. Then, tired and happy at dusk boarded the boat to cruise back through the bay to the Gold Coast.
The final adventure for the day was “Boom-netting” behind the boat. This meant hanging on to a net mesh sling contraption that was attached to the back of the boat and wallowing in the wash with a few others. The boat stopped frequently to allow one to climb back on board and be replaced by the next group waiting eagerly for their turn. Great fun and not done any more, for rather obvious reasons.
I really needed to catch the last of the suns rays and boost this tan though, for in those days we literally cooked ourselves to a crispy brown oblivious to the damage we were incurring for the future. The boat stopped and started, stopped and started over and over again, giving everyone a turn.
Then it was my turn. It never occurred that this was a highly dangerous exercise. Workplace Health and Safety would be horrified! Very few were watching as I carefully descended into the water. Most were exhausted and sleepy after the day’s excitement, resting up for the night’s disco raging ahead. This suited me fine.
I hung on tight to the thick ropes, exhilarated by the frothy wake and the cool rushing water. But the force of the wash caught me unawares. It was so strong. I gripped the ropes with both hands. Two others lay wallowing in the boom net, enjoying the experience, laughing and rolling around. We passed the area that is now Sanctuary Cove, heading south. The water was deep and turning from rich blue to black as the sun settled down on the horizon.
Suddenly the captain, (if he could be called that) put on a burst of speed, having lost time from continually stopping and starting. It was then that I looked up to see, not one, but everyone – about forty guys and girls crowding above me on the stern pointing, laughing and yahooing. What was up? No! What was down?!
My itsy,bitsy, teeny, weeny, yellow polka dot bikini bottoms were down and around my ankles!
Shrieks of mirth from the boat. Rush of hot embarrassment, unnoticeable no doubt as I was already lobster red from sunburn. How stark white my stripe of untanned butt must have appeared.
Twisting around I grabbed the disappearing strip of cloth with one hand and in doing so released a white and interesting piece of anatomy from my bra cup. “Help!” No-one wanted to help. “Stop the boat!” I pleaded over and over again. But the driver was unrepentant. There was no way he was going to stop again. Thank God these were the days before videos and mobile phones.
We were now in the Nerang and crossing the mouth of the bar. I was cold and I was hot. I was scared and embarrassed. I wanted to vanish into oblivion – but the game was too much fun for the spectators.
Then, “Shark!” someone yelled. Fear rushed over me. My fellow swimmers took off at top speed and scrambled aboard with the help of many hands. I stayed, frozen with fear in the cold water, hoping the froth was covering my never-seen-before regions. On and on we ploughed, the enthusiasm of the crowd unabating. “Climb on board,” the guys were shouting.
“Shark” someone else kept yelling. Knowing the machinations of the male mind I didn’t really believe the shark alarm. In retrospect it could have been valid and I would have been in serious trouble. As it was, embarrassment was my total concern. NB – these were the days before nudity was the norm.
The last half hour of this ordeal has faded from memory, as tends to be the case with life’s most horrendous experiences. I do remember, though, the relief as the craft berthed at the Labrador jetty and I was able to loosen my vice grip on the ropes and haul my undies to their proper position. Towels had been thrown down and welcome hands, mainly female, helped haul my exhausted bod back up on board.
I never wore a bikini again, except for on the cat-walk, in all my life!