Celibacy Drawer

It's over. It's just all over. The final thread has been cut I can officially say that if it wasn't for the fact that I don't believe in god (and if I did I'm pretty sure we wouldn't get on), I could become a nun.
This weekend I made the terrible mistake of going on a clothing cull. I maliciously made my way through my wardrobe destroying the final pieces of slutty apparel and those dresses from uni that I've just held onto for far too long.
This however is not the miserable event that has led my contemplating the prospect of sore knees. I'm sure I am not the only girl who has THAT drawer. The place where you keep THAT underwear. The underwear that you buy when you start seeing someone, the underwear that you buy that may actually be seen by other people. It is essential to have this underwear, especially in the early stages of a relationship aka the lying stages. As far as he's concerned you always wear black lacy kickers and the idea that you actually own several pants with different Sesame Street characters on them never even enter his mind. The thing is these are terrible lies and if he actually saw your real underwear there is always a lot to learn. Food for example; I believe that my cookie monster pants provide a clear message 'you may only enter here if you have recently supplied or going to supply cookies'. Although it may also be this message that is keeping men out of my pants and eventually me coming out of them as my waist line stretches out the cookie monsters face so even he thinks it's one too many.
I don't think men's underwear has the same effect as women's. It doesn't provide helpful dietary information and it doesn't work to enhance their assets. A man doesn't go out and buy a nice lacy pair of boxes in order to seduce his female counter part, if he had any sense he would go out and buy the aforementioned cookies. Triangle man didn't quite get this. Triangle man and me were together for a while and during this time he went through a phase. The triangle went and purchased a pair of silk boxers. He strutted into the room rendering me confusingly blinded as the light reflected off them and I immediately started looking around for what was surely a landing spacecraft. He gave me a look that showed both he thought this was a good idea and he had no idea that pouty lips only really work on Angelina Jolie. I suddenly became aware of why this look had occurred as he stretched out the top of the elasticated waist and so my attention could be brought to the label that read 'Stallion'. He then proceeded to move to the bed sliding off quite spectacularly and landing with a bump on the floor. Men should just stick to a clean pair of black boxers.
Over time I have gathered a nice little collection of underwear that goes in the bottom drawer to be taken out when and if necessary. It has admittedly twindled over the years and now.... it is no more. As I looked at the last few items that remained several depressing thoughts occurred. 1) none of it actually fits any more. I am no longer a size 8. Whilst I could try and spin this to a good thing of an enhanced bra size I suspect it has more to do with cookie monsters stretching face. 2) It has been a long time since I have added to the drawer. 3) There is no reason to have the drawer. I have now filled the drawer with pyjamas. It is my celibacy drawer. No longer a place where virtue goes to die but now a place where any sense of my sexual self goes to die and instead I can be found on my sofa in a TMNT onsie trying to get to grips with the bible.