Satire | Childhood Trauma | Flawed Coping Mechanism
The Shameful Case of Panty Malfunction
The most terrifying incident no celeb would wish even for publicity
I want the earth to split open. Not like a coconut, but more like an adult opening arms to the shamefaced child. But I do want the earth to open so that it can tuck me to its core.
My bully has just witnessed a phenomenally humiliating incident of the century.
He sneaks behind me, seeing the panty free fall. His eagle eyes scan the scene, absorbing it dot to dot to reproduce the entire Panty Debacle in school the next day.
There are hundreds of evening walkers in the park. Some notice. Some sleepwalk. I am frozen, not like Elsa, but more like crystalized corn forgotten in the freezer. I want to unfreeze the shame and pull up the panty that lay dead on the ground like a hunted pigeon lying flat.
But I FAINT in response. Not physically but intellectually.
My cousins make a human shield around me in the park and poke me to pull the panty up and act normal. But I know acting normal isn’t going to work this time. I’ve been caught red-handed in the middle of the scene. There’s no denying the accusations and mockery that will ensue in the school the next day.
It feels like pulling iron chains up my thighs, yet I do. I am confused and ashamed. I am confused because my brain is on auto mode and ashamed because I had lost the last shred of dignity I clung to by the age of nine.
It feels like vulgar nudity. As if something stringent is stripped off my core. I have been wearing undies for the past six years now. And that’s a long period for a piece of cloth to have sentimental value in your life.
I realize dignity has made ample space for shame. I don’t know how many of the parkers have seen the Panty Debacle and how many of them are going to be inappropriate about a nine-year-old having such a horrendous malfunction.
Hey! Did you just see the girl with loose panties?
What? Who?
The girl with ill-fitting panties in the park?
Oh! Of course. Who wouldn’t?
EWWW.
What a shame to mankind.
She should cremate herself.
She’s a stain on her parent’s rep.
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.
I anticipate the speculative dialogue among my countrymen. I try to imagine their faces. But all it boils down to is a group of four men without faces. They are illusory, and the moment I inch closer, they operate, commencing another gossip session.
In my nine years on earth, this is the first event in which I betrayed motherhood and wished to have a celebrity for a mother. At least she can say it was all staged. Alas, I am a simple child with ill-fitting undies.
And there’s no resurrection of this sin.
In the coming days, I will fret about it in the bed. For the next few years, it will be my source of inspiration to be in bed forever. I’ll lose sleep and confidence and gain weight.
For now, the human shield is broken, and my nakedness is visible. They can see through me—all of it — my inadequacy, reality, hypocrisy, and sluggish mental capacity. But above all, my panty has exposed its mistress's flawed coping mechanisms.
ALL OF IT IS EXPOSED.
You wouldn’t wish such a debacle on your blood-sworn enemy.
I wonder who wished upon a nine-year-old without any devices.
So here I am — letting The Panty Debacle define my perceptions and values.
Simultaneously, I am also scared of the bully who’s just seen all of it. I am scared of his friends, male cousins, parents, and elder brother. My bully is a handsome-looking bully with free-hanging curls on his forehead, which makes him all the more trustworthy to his circles and all the more devilish to me.
The boys will listen to the Panty Debacle raptly, gasping at my shamelessness and audacity to wear a loose-elastic panty. I think by then — they’ll also gasp at not having parents. After all, they have them.
From now on, fear and shame will be the backbone of my personality. Also, my inner motivational speakers — guiding me to the path of growth. Without them, I’ll completely gain control of life.
So there’s no liberation.
Gosh! I really want the earth to split open and make a way to tuck me in. Leaving no traces of my dumb, shameful existence.
And I am still hoping to change the future like an I-don’t-give-a-shit kinda person.
Thanks to Susan Brearley’s underwear writing prompt.
