Romance for Real Women

As you know, I consider myself something of an expert in sexy lingerie. (If you’re remotely interested, the cause of my obsession with sexy lingerie is described in Lingerie: My Backstory. Quite naturally, I blame it on my Mother, Miss Moonbeam.)

So, how, I ask myself, did I miss this story about Shirley of Hollywood? I consider Shirley one of the finest suppliers of exotic lingerie and have bought Shirley of Hollywood lingerie for years.

It must have been the heat. The perspiration in my eyes. My temperature induced fugue state. Real women don’t do well in the heat. (Oh, perhaps some of you do. I don’t.)

Because I missed it…Shirley’s Celebration of 60 Years of Sexy.

The private company is owned by the Schlobohm family and apparently really started expanding back in the sixties when it became a major supplier of Frederick’s of Hollywood. In the seventies, the company led the way in developing the “split crotch panty,” certainly an innovation as important as the microwave in the opinion of this real woman. The eighties saw the rise of Madonna and her “lingerie as outerwear” style, for which if nothing else, we can thank Madonna. The company went with the times in the nineties with outrageous and dramatic corsetry. And, Shirley’s is still growing. As CEO Roy Schlobohm says “there’s nothing compared to a woman in lingerie.” Amen to that, Roy.

To celebrate its anniversary, the company has rolled out a commemorative collection of lingerie showcasing a retrospective of sultry looks from 1948 to the present. And, it’s gorgeous. Check it out at www.shirleyofhollywood.com. Of course, these are all special orders and a little rich for me. But I can look.

More affordable are the wonderful new products featured by my favorite on-line lingerie store, www.inhisdreams.com

The company is posting lots of new goodies and this morning, I noticed it’s having a sale on its lace low-rise boy leg panties which I love.

But, I digress. Shirley is also sponsoring a contest for its next “Sexy Stars of Shirley,” models who will grace the pages of Shirley’s catalogues and calendars. www.inhisdreams.com posts the rules and for a moment, just for a moment, I was tempted.

But I’m way too warm for the hot lights of Hollywood, not to mention way too old. Nevertheless, I will be following the results. So, if you’re interested, ladies, take a look. Go to inhisdreams and click on the Shirley icon.

It could be fun.

Okay, I admit I’m a little theatrical. A lot theatrical.

Real women can be theatrical.

When we were little, my sisters and I used to dress up in Miss Moonbeam’s treasured relics from the sixties. These consisted mostly of faded tye dyed caftans which she felt herself unable to discard. Mom encouraged us to play with her old things perhaps dreaming that her peace and love philosophy would rub off on us the same way dye fades in the wash. That is to say, quickly and thoroughly and all over everything else.

Although I made do with tattered caftans, I yearned for polka dots, sequins and crystals. At Halloween, I always insisted on the brightest, most sparkling costumes. My Cinderella at the ball costume wasn’t fantasy. It was the deepest expression of my personality. I spent months finding exactly the right accessories for the beaded flapper dress Granny gave me one year. A long strand of faux pearls, earrings and a real cigarette holder.

Mom was horrified. I loved it and still regret outgrowing it.

Granny never quite reconciled herself to the bohemian daughter she’d produced and, despite her deep, unwavering love for my mother, never understood her. But she understood me.

Granny insisted I take ballet classes which I did enthusiastically until it became clear even to me that I’d never be a professional. But, oh, I loved those costumes and the glittery makeup. I loved performing even if all I did was trip around the stage. Literally.

Granny also gave me dance lessons which in our town were taught at the local war memorial that had an auditorium for civic use. Mom swallowed the dance lessons, although the clouds of pink Granny and I decided were essential for waltzing were harder for her.

Along with sequins and beads, tears used to be an essential part of my theatrical repertoire.

I learned early on that I could cry just by thinking of something sad. My Cinderella costume, conveniently lost at some point in my childhood, a string of crystals Mom declined to buy, make up she made me scrub off. All could bring tears.

Shallow, I know. But we make do with what we’re given.

My tears aren’t the sobbing kind. No. At least in my fancy, I am more the pre-Raphael type, long tresses bound in a net with a few tendrils of hair attractively escaping over a willow neck; white skin emphasized by a sheer gown; disconsolately watering the plants I’m drooped over with tears that escape one by one.

God, I was good.

Unfortunately, Mom also had the gift of tears. So, when I’d go into my drooping femme act, she’d tell me to knock it off. Or when she was in the mood she’d provide a little competition and my sisters and Granny would find the two of us draped languorously on the couch, tears flowing down our cheeks between giggles.

As I got older, I admit I used the tears to great effect especially with men who didn’t know me well. My ex-husband claimed before he departed that he never knew what was up with me. (I never said the divorce was entirely his fault.)

To her credit, Mom opposed manipulation by tears. In fact, when my partner and I were just into our relationship, you know the stage where you’re committed, but everything is still sort of starry, Mom suggested we do our femme act for him. I was enjoying the hell out of it until it occurred to me that S/O was being given an important piece of intelligence.

So now when I droop, he sits down and enjoys the show. Once he even asked me to hold the action until he got the popcorn ready.

Hardly fair.

However, I got smart and now I set the mood. These days, I’ve stopped drooping and now do my performing in sexy lingerie.

So, I get the results I want: his undivided attention.

It’s all theater, ladies.

Real women pay attention to important real world developments such as the news yesterday that a Los Angeles woman was harmed pulling on a Victoria’s Secret v-string.

According to news reports, greeted by many bloggers with justifiable skepticism, a metallic element flew off the thong and damaged her cornea. It caused her to miss work as a traffic cop for a few days and “will affect her for the rest of her life,” according to her lawyer Jason Buccat, who is undoubtedly handling the case on a contingency basis.

I once had a young woman who looked after the kids when they were toddlers. She proudly told me her sister was buying a house funded by two settlements from Wal-Mart, the pay off for “slip and falls.”

The term was unfamiliar to me, then. When I asked an attorney friend, he told me that large corporations like Wal-Mart are routinely sued by people claiming in-store injuries such as slipping and falling. Rather than take these nuisance suits to court, the companies settle them and pass the costs on to the consumer.

Long ago, I was shocked that people do this. But, having had my eyes opened, I suspect this is such a case.

However, it’s unsettling that the v-string and its sister, the g-string, might get a bad rap because of a nuisance law suit. Will Victoria’s Secret and other thong manufacturers have to print warnings the way MacDonald’s has to warn that hot coffee is hot? It boggles the mind.

Real women need them. I have a drawer full of them. They’re sexy. Men love them. Practically, they leave no visible panty line (VPL, a technical term) under skirts and pants. And, they’re inexpensive.

Also, thinking this through, it’s highly unlikely that even the most forceful tug on a v-string would result in what one blogger called “projectile thongs.”

So in support of Victoria’s Secret and manufacturers of g- and v-string thongs everywhere, and to show I have no fear of projectile thongs, I’m going to buy some today…with metallic elements. Check out my favorites at http://www.inhisdreams.com/pantiesthongs2.html

Real women know the people who rob convenience stores are stupid. A friend suggested I check out this video from a robbery in the Denver area where the perps wore thongs.

The cotton panties Mom used to make me wear would have been better cover.

But, yours truly did recognize the make, sku number and manufacturer of the thongs worn in the heist.

They are: Style 10 from Shirley of Hollywood

You can get them at In His Dreams, Sexy Lingerie

God, am I good!

Check out the video.

As you may have gathered by now, I’m a fan of sexy lingerie. I’m a fan of many other things including books, jewelry, food, wine, and, of course, men. But my love of sexy lingerie is no doubt a reaction to my mother’s insistence on white cotton panties while I was growing up and her (continued) befuddlement on why anyone would want to wear a bra.

Mom came of age during the sixties and enthusiastically embraced all the mores of the time including free love, music, especially Bob Dylan before he went electronic, the pill, alternative lifestyles and social justice. She got rid of her own bra circa 1967 and hasn’t seen the need for one since. (Fortunately, she’s also a vegetarian and very small, so any image you might have of an aged crone with boobs flapping down to her waist is false. You can let go of that right now.)

However, her own outlook meant she never saw a need for bras for her daughters.

This was never a problem for Anne who was and is flat as a board, but Mary, who back then we called “Blessing,” and I needed bras since about the time we were eleven. And, among the many things I’m grateful to my grandmother for is her determined insistence she would provide us with suitable undergarments.

To her credit, Mom didn’t fight her. She merely asked whether we actually desired said undergarments. When we enthusiastically concurred with Granny, she looked a little wistful at what she saw as a betrayal of her own principles. Nevertheless, she bowed to our wishes.

So, off we went to the local department store and into the lingerie department where Granny announced to the sales lady that we were there to get our “first little bras.”

To her credit, the sales lady didn’t burst out laughing since Mary at aged thirteen and I at age twelve were already in B cups.

After being fitted and equipped with four white Playtex bras, Granny told us we could pick one apiece as a special treat.

I looked around the department starry eyed. I’d never seen such stuff, slinky nightgowns in gorgeous colors. Underwear that wasn’t white. And, bras on hangers in red, black, white and camel color with lacy trims. (This was years ago and the department store was conservative, even by the standards of that bygone era.)

Mary and I arrived at the bra display at approximately the same moment. Fortunately, we were different sizes and to our great relief found a siren red bra for each of us. And, Granny, that dear heart, despite her reservations about what Mom would say, made good on her word and bought them for us.

Thus began a lifelong devotion to sexy lingerie. And, although Mary is a very different person than I, she also is a devoted buyer of sexy lingerie and some of the best times we’ve ever shared have been over hangers in the lingerie department.

There it is. My lingerie back story.

I saw this fabulous video about priests in a lingerie department. It reminded me of my partner’s reaction to lingerie before I trained him. Enjoy.

If I was the type to squeal, I would.

Yesterday I posted an opinion, mind you, just an opinion that my partner might turn up for Mother’s Day dinner with something gift wrapped.

He did.

Yes, indeedy.

Thoughtful man.

Not that he didn’t make me work for it.

He came over at dinner time, as arranged, carrying a large gift wrapped box that I couldn’t help noticing. However, he deposited it on a chair in the living room and then didn’t mention it.

I could hardly ask, could I?

So during the meal, prepared by yours truly, consisting of steak, roasted sweet potatoes, and Caesar’s salad accompanied by a good Merlot and followed by chocolate mousse, I didn’t say a word, although I admit I sneaked a few glances at the package when I had occasion to pass it.

Finally, after dinner when despite the wine, I began to grind my teeth, he leaned back in his chair and announced he’d brought me a little something for Mother’s Day.

“Oh,” I said with complete innocence as if I hadn’t noticed anything sitting on my living room chair begging to be opened.

Knowing me as he does, he just laughed and suggested I get it.

Well, ladies, he’d made an on line visit to one of my favorite lingerie stores and cleaned out the e-shelves. For tucked into the package was a gorgeous white sheer peignoir, a black gown and a red lace baby doll. He also included several pairs of fishnet stockings, a staple of my wardrobe.

I was nearly speechless. Gorgeous sexy lingerie is one of my greatest weaknesses and we can get into the whys of that in another post.

Well, naturally we took the rest of the Merlot into the bedroom where I treated him to a fashion show guaranteed to start his week off right.

I’ll spare you the details, but if you’d like to see what he bought me, go to www.inhisdreams.com It’s one of the oldest sellers of high quality sexy lingerie on the internet. Believe me, I know. I’ve been a customer for years.