My Name Is Eliane

And I'm a Knicker Addict.

You may have already come to that conclusion. Chatting to Rebecca on line last night, and numbering the pairs I'd bought over the past few days, arriving at sixteen, I realised that I do have a problem.

I also have an excuse though, or at least an explanation. I would like to tell you HOW I became a knicker addict. The start of this explanation will actually be about shoes. My attitude to shoes explains a lot about me.

I have big feet. I've always had big feet. I have, as my mother points out, the bones of my father's side of the family. Um, not the *actual* bones, you understand, but the tendency to have a large frame, big hands, big feet. One cousin takes a UK size 14 shoe. That's a 15 in US and a 49 in EU... so yeah, my size 8/9s are really fairly sensible in comparison. (That's a 10.5/11 US and 43 EU). They are wide as well though. The upshot of all this, is that growing up, I was never able to have "pretty" shoes. When all the other girls had pretty party shoes, they never did any that were long enough/wide enough to fit me.
When I hit my early twenties, and shops cottoned on to the fact that women's feet were not all size 5, I got a bit carried away. You have to remember, I'd never had pretty shoes before. Ever. So suddenly having all this choice meant that I was free to buy all sorts of pretty shoes I wanted. Well, it would be more precise to take out the "sorts of". I just bought ALL the pretty shoes!
Eventually, as the years passed, I realised that I didn't actually have to buy every nice pair of shoes I saw that fitted me. That chances are, next time I needed a pair, there would still be lots of pretty ones for sale. But this famine to feast situation explains a lot about me.

Knickers, of course, were not quite the same situation. I didn't have some major lack of pretty knickers as a child. I just learnt about knickers the way that us girls learn about lots of things. From my mother. And the only knickers that ever used to hang on our washing line were white, beige or black cotton. With the (very) occasional more racy black silky or cream silky pair. So I grew up thinking that nice girls have black or white cotton knickers for use most of the time. I mean, I had a few slightly more racy pairs, but nice girls don't have racy knickers.

And then 18 months ago, I basically fell in love with my bottom. Which sounds a little narcissistic, so it would be more accurate to say that I fell in love with what my bottom stands for. Loved objects need to be respected, and dressed in appropriate wear. So I started buying cute knickers. Lacy ones. Silky ones. Frilly ones. Slogan ones. All the pretty knickers in existence, to make up for lost time. I just kept ON buying. And buying. And buying. Until I reached the point that even I realised that purchasing 16 pairs of knickers in one weekend is excessive.

So yes, My name is Eliane, and I'm a knicker addict. I'm not quite sure where I go from here, but I'm sure I once read that admitting you have a problem is the first step on the road to recovery.