In the early Twentieth Century, women were not allowed to purchase lingerie without the participation of an advisory committee, with at least two members wearing annoying hats during the proceedings. At Greta Jean’s Emporium of Chastely Coverings (“Helping Privates Remain Private since 1873!”), we join a group of women engaged in such a group purchase, preparing for someone’s upcoming nuptials.
Prudencia, far left, bitter: “Well, I’m certainly ruling out these two nasty bits of whorishness. They would show far too much cleavage, and since I don’t have any cleavage myself, I don’t want anybody else to be able to show theirs. It annoys me when other people have nice things. That’s why I joined the Tea Party.”
Virginetta, near left, unsullied so far: “I was thinking about something like this number. It has rather classic lines, don’t you think? Since my fiancé is a Rhode Island Scholar, I thought he would appreciate me looking like something he could read in a library. And I like this little skirt thing that I can fiddle with when I don’t know what to do on my wedding night.”
Witherina, middle, secretly sullied and part-time auto mechanic: “Oh, heavens no, that won’t do. You look like a Greco-Roman tamale. Men are already savage enough beasts as it is, so you don’t need to make him even more hungry. You should go for something less provocative. That’s the key to a good marriage, restraint and carefully-planned inaccessibility. And your own bank account.”
Ditsy Mae, near right, clueless: “I was raised Pentecostal so I really don’t have anything to contribute. Unless somebody brings out a snake, then I know what to do.”
Clydette, far right, free spirit: “Oh my GOD I can’t take it anymore. You people are insane. I only joined this stupid committee so I could use it as an example of community involvement on my college application to Vassar. Let me break it down for you nattering twits. Prudencia, lose the hula hoop necklace. It only draws attention to the fact that your Twin Peaks have apparently been loaned out to another mountain range. Not that such things have any relevance. Physical appearance is only important to small minds.”
Virginetta, it really doesn’t matter what you wear on your wedding night. If you do it right, nobody will be wearing anything. If your fiancé can’t get excited by the simple fact that it’s you, it might be time to look for another fiancé. I say go all out and wear some crotch-less panties and a smile. Witherina, judging by the big-ass fingerprints all over your sheath, you’ve apparently been banging King Kong so you might not be the best person for relationship advice. And Ditsy Mae, you poor thing, thanks for bringing up the snake-handling, as it sounds like there’s a lot of people in this room that really need a good snaking. And a big ole bottle of bourbon.”
Greta Jean, proprietress, wandering in from her office where she kept plenty of bourbon, because customers are annoying: “Okay, ladies, have we come to a decision?”
Virginetta: “Yes. I think I want to go to Vassar.”
Previously published in “Crusty Pie” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Modified slightly for this post.
Categories: Past Imperfect