why hand-me-down underwear?

I am the youngest kid in a series of cousins and siblings in a family that is frugal in the use of everything from leftover food to winter apparel.  Like squirrels store nuts, the women in my house religiously warehouse goods for the next user.  Take a look in the fridge and you see a warehouse of morsels sealed in high-end polyethylene.  Tupperware.  And mom even knows the name of each culinary sarcophagus.  "Get me the ham in the square-round."  What?  These are some serious keepers I was born into.

So at a holiday reunion all the cousins are in town and someone breaks out the hand-me-down clothes bags.  The youngest gets the biggest bag and the enthusiasm is contagious.  People that lovingly store small pieces of meatloaf are overwhelmed with glee at the prospect of 4th generation usage of a sweater decorated with cows.  I glance up on the wall to see a tacky collage of pictures and notice both older cousins and my older sister smiling back wearing that sweater.  Wow.  Is this real.  The pressure of publicly emptying the bag with spectators saying "try this on honey" and "oh, isn't that adorable" is something akin to a reality TV wedding dress fitting.

Then I see it.  Even at seven years old my face starts to sweat.  At the bottom of the trash bag bound wardrobe a social line is crossed so extremely, that at seven I suddenly have a deeper understanding of the words intimate apparel than a Victoria's Secret model.

Hand-me-down underwear.

"It's been washed sweetie" an aunt replies to the panic on my face.  Like that somehow nullifies the fact that it's been in previous contact with three ani, two of which don't even reside in the same state.  The awkwardness is monumental.  Images flash through my mind of people rummaging through used underwear bins at the salvation army store, happy to have found a pair of intact knickers.  Am I ungrateful?   I look at the faces goading me into thinking this is great...I get "seasoned" underwear.  Then reason kicks in and I fake a smile then sneak the bag down the hall where one-by-one I flush each and every pair down the toilet.  Even if I have to go commando for the rest of the year, I need my personal...space.