Don't get in twist over knickers
This time last week I was in the midst of some extreme relaxing.
I did not at any stage get my knickers in a twist.
Do you want to know the key? Don't wear any, although this state of affairs comes with its own set of stresses.
It was a girls' weekend to Hanmer Springs in honour of a friend's birthday, but organised by my friend Hayley. She'd booked a fantastic apartment with two bedrooms. There was a queen-size bed and single bed in one room, and a king-size bed in the other. So that amounted to three beds and five girls needing five places to sleep.
Hayley and her whipsmart mind did some quick maths and conceded there would be some bed-sharing. This is a pretty standard situation for a girls' weekend and as Hayley and I have known each other for so long, we accept that if there is a bed to share, we will inevitably be the ones sharing it.
Once, we had a girls' getaway in an apartment where there were more girls than beds so Hayley and I had to make our own nest on the lounge floor using all manner of spare cushions and blankets. So, it is fair to say she knows me well. She also knows that I am one of those people who hates wearing clothes to bed.
So, because she had done all the organising, she announced: "I am going to sleep in my own bed because Beck never wears knickers."
This was slightly unfair because "never" is an exaggeration. I was wearing a pair as she made the announcement. I wear knickers a massive percentage of the time. I just don't particularly like wearing them at night. This may be due to years of my grandmother telling me to wear cotton pants to bed because "your bottom has to breathe". What an awful mental picture.
Anyway, it became apparent that she and I would be sharing a bed.
"OK," she said. "I'll sleep with Beck but it has to be the king size. There has to be some advantage to being large."
And then she turned to me and said: "But you better wear knickers."
"Sure, I will," I said, promptly turning to Lizzie and clearly mouthing the words "I won't".
Lizzie giggled and Hayley looked at her.
"It's not funny Lizzie. Even my husband wears pants."
Ah, but the thing is, it actually was funny. Very funny. I was giggling away merrily but Hayley knows me too well.
"They'll be off by morning, won't they?" she asked.
Underwear had already taken up too much time on our holiday, so we got on with a variety of Hanmery activities like soaking, steaming, massages and facials.
Eventually we headed back to the apartment, all relaxed and fresh-faced, where we began to undo all the good work over cheese and wine.
The night fell and we retired to our various rooms and beds. Hayley and I wore nighties. I hate wearing a nightie but I must perform these concessions from time to time. I even wore knickers, seeing as it was such a big issue.
Well . . . I wore them until Hayley nodded off and then I whipped them off and slept like a baby. I woke feeling happy and refreshed.
Lizzie popped her head through the door.
"So, did you wear knickers?" she asked. I heard someone saying: "Nope". That person wasn't me. It was Hayley.
She fought fire with fire. I'm still disgusted.
- The Press