For months now, I’ve been putting off a daunting task. My underwear drawer has spiraled into chaos—it’s bordering on gross, and I feel a deep shame over about 80% of its contents. Today, I decided, was the day for an intervention. It was time to tackle the beast lurking in the depths of my closet.
As I approached the drawer, a wave of dread washed over me. I hesitated, diverting my attention to other pressing matters like folding shirts, straightening jeans, and placing bags I’ll probably never use again up high. I even created a Goodwill pile of items that have collected dust for years, convincing myself I’d wear them again someday. That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks: Am I a hoarder? But I had bigger fish to fry.
After a deep breath to calm my nerves, I finally pulled open the drawer. A nauseating blend of lavender, gardenia, and lime assaulted my senses—evidence of the potpourri bags fighting to sabotage my resolve. No way. I was determined to take charge.
Holding my breath, I plunged my arms into the tangled mess of undergarments and unleashed them onto the floor. Ha! Take that, frumpy granny panties! You too, nursing bra! Channeling my inner Gandalf, I declared, “You shall not pass!” back into the abyss of my undies drawer. “You shall not pass!”
The Inventory
The inventory was alarming:
- 5 pairs of my husband’s ancient boxers
- 3 pairs of women’s sleep shorts
- 7 pairs of post-pregnancy underwear, 3 of which had holes or loose threads
- 9 polyester thongs from pre-baby days (thanks, hemorrhoids)
- 7 bras, four of which were older than my youngest child
- 1 nursing bra (my youngest is 5, and we’re done)
- 1 lavender sachet
- 1 gardenia sachet
- 2 lily of the valley potpourri bags from a decade ago that still somehow smell (seriously, what’s in those?)
- 1 baggie with 5 baby teeth from the tooth fairy
- 3 notes from my 7-year-old to garden fairies that vanished
- dog hair
- a deceased moth
- receipts from 2010
- random price tags
- and 1 mysterious pair of underwear from an unknown owner.
Before I could second-guess myself, I rapidly gathered up the obvious culprits I’d never need again: farewell, men’s boxers; adios, worn-out bras; goodbye, chafing thongs; and see you never, granny panties! I was on a roll, and it felt liberating.
Feeling lighter, I set to organizing. I grabbed an old shoe box that had once housed my Crocs (judge me not) and ripped off the top. Inside, I stashed three fancy bras that rarely see the light of day, one pair of granny panties (because you never know), two thongs (just in case), the sachets, the baby teeth, and the fairy notes. My drawer transformed into a vast, clean landscape, unburdened by clutter. After a quick dust-bust, I triumphantly surveyed my work. My four remaining bras and three pairs of lady boxers now enjoyed their spacious new home, as if a magical team from a home improvement show had come in while I was away.
After this sweaty venture, I was definitely ready for a shower; the nervous perspiration had me smelling like a strange blend of chicken noodle soup and onion rings.
Reflecting on this experience, I feel qualified to offer advice to fellow underwear hoarders. Fear not! Those holey panties? They can be consigned to a time capsule. Deformed bras? Dispose of them immediately. Men’s boxers? Honestly, you should be embarrassed. Bury them deep alongside those unworthy panties. You can do this!
Cleaning out your underwear drawer is akin to a goldfish funeral—it’s not exactly fun, it’s a bit sad (but not really), and it symbolizes a fresh start. Ladies, do the right thing! Your body deserves better than moth-eaten intimates. You should be adorned in soft, comfortable bras that don’t slip off your shoulders every five minutes. Take pride in your undergarments and reclaim your power. Your privates will thank you, and so will you.
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In summary, taking control of your underwear drawer can be a liberating experience. Don’t be afraid to let go of the old and make space for the new.
Keyphrase: “underwear drawer organization”
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