WORK IT

When I was 11, my best friend K. said she’d give me $5 to wear underwear on my head to a play we were going to at the Hangar Theatre in Ithaca with her family. Her house was my home away from home--the hippie freewheeling home that offered up heavenly smells of fresh-baked yeasty breads on Saturday mornings and the pungent, earthy smells of homegrown on Saturday nights.  I loved her house and wished that my house of silent dinners and unsung songs could be more like hers.  She, of course, longed for the routine and structure that my house offered, which I found to be oh-so-boring. It didn’t take me long to figure out things to do to counteract life in Dullsville; things like wearing underwear on my head out in public. It was a brave move, I tell you, but I was more than up for the challenge.
While the underwear themselves were quite ordinary (plain old white briefs if I remember correctly) they became something extraordinary once that waistband snapped over my head.  My head was suddenly festooned...I pulled and tugged at the panties (I still refer to girls underwear as panties; the only other time that the word “panties” seems appropriate to me is in “don’t get yer panties in a wad”). I pulled them down like a beret, I twisted them up like a turban. Ultimately I just let them lie, looking like, well, a pair of white briefs on my head. K’s parents shook their heads; they were no strangers to my kooky ways and they loved me nevertheless. To their credit, they never acted embarrassed to be seen with me. I paired my new headdress with a tube-top maxi dress and off we went.
I actually felt regal in my flowing gown and crown of ivory.  I sashayed into the theatre as if I owned the place. I mean, if your going to wear underwear on your head in public you need to own it, there’s just no way around it. I do remember feeling a bit exposed under the bright lights of the lobby, but I stayed in character and held my head high. There were double-takes and giggles as we made our way to our seats, K. hanging back and trying to hide behind her Dad.
“Pay up, sister,” I whispered to her once we were in the safety of the darkened theatre. We both burst out laughing and I tore the panties off my head and tossed them to her Mom. “I hope these are clean,” she said, winking at me and stuffing them into her macrame bag.
Just last week my daughter said something about wouldn’t it be funny if someone wore underwear on their head? I said, “You know...” and told her the story. Her eyes got wide and she exclaimed “Mom!” before collapsing on the floor in a fit of giggles. “You’re weird, Mom!” she laughed, and then after a thoughtful pause, “but in a good way...”

That was like getting paid all over again, 38 years later.  I hope to teach her how much fun life can be when you can allow yourself to be kooky unfettered by what others may or may not think. I hope she grows up to be weird in a good way, too. In fact, I think I have an old pair of white briefs that I may need to hand down...