I always thought knicker creep was what happened when I had mistakenly bought a pair of knickers that wasn’t cut to accommodate my generous butt or the elastic in the legs of some old favourites had given way.
But, it appears, knicker creep has another meaning.
Earlier in the year, I was watching Grand Designs, one of my favourite TV shows. An academic and her partner had just built their retirement home and she expressed her delight in its completion by noting it signalled the end of her knicker creep problem.
She was referring to the fact she had been seesawing between two houses and her knickers had a tendency to creep from one house to the other. After a while, one drawer of knickers would be overflowing and the other bare. The situation would be remedied by packing up a pile of knickers to refill the bare drawer. Before long, the previously overflowing drawer, would be bare.
Well, I have a serious case of knicker creep … and bras creep… and nightie creep and – would you believe it? – brown sugar creep and rolled oats creep. I try not to double up on such things as brown sugar and rolled oats. But, before you know it, I am in Perth and cooking some biscuits and the brown sugar or the rolled oats is in Bridgetown, requiring the purchase of another packet of one or the other. Then, somehow, as if by some devilish plan, I am in Bridgetown and the two packets of brown sugar or rolled oats are in bloody Perth.
Then there was the time, when Maus packed for a stay in Bridgetown in the middle of winter, she forgot to pack anything warm for me to wear. I came down in my professional gear and had nothing else to put on. And the times when we only have work clothes and we receive an invitation to dinner; we have to, somehow, look decent in clothes we ceased wearing in public several years ago.
I am used to uncoordinated shoes and handbags and the lack of jackets. I have a wardrobe full of jackets in Perth but only one in Bridgetown. It is a jacket I gave to Maus’ mum many, many years ago because I didn’t need it. It languished in her wardrobe for years and then, when she died, it found its way back into mine. I decided to bring it down to Bridgetown to wear in an emergency. It has had a real work out.
At least, I can be grateful I haven’t been caught with one shoe in Bridgetown and the other in Perth. There is nothing worse than wearing odd shoes. You feel like a real goog.
And then there is the travelling back and forth, and the packing and unpacking and the cleaning of two houses and two gardens to maintain and two of every bill you can think of.
But what are you to do when you can’t make up your mind where you want to live?
Feel blessed, to be able to live in both worlds.