We are lucky enough at our house in Chiang Rai to have a washing machine. Last semester, when we were living in Ratchaburi, we weren’t so fortunate. Win would bungee the full laundry basket to the basket on his bike and precariously bike the clothes to and from a laundry mat (some lady who washes clothes).
Having our very own washing machine makes everything much easier. I get up on sunny weekend mornings, throw in a load of clothes, wait an hour, and then hang them outside. I don’t think that dryers even exist in Thailand, so we have adapted to Thai-style drying: a moveable rack that goes into to the sun when possible, and out of the rain when it inevitably starts raining. It’s a bit of a pain, but our clothes smell of sunshine (unless of course they smell of mildew, then it’s back into the washer they go).
I thought this was a lovely, borderline-flawless system. Then, disaster struck.
While moving some still-damp clothes back into the sun, I noticed something peculiar. A large quantity of my underwear and a strapless bra were missing. Since everything else was intact, I began looking around, thinking surely the wind was to blame. But they were nowhere to be seen. Underwear, gone. Clothes pins still in place, I knew this had to be the work of a human. Some human who deemed it acceptable to come into our yard and thong-nap my cute American underwear, lace and all. But, they were courteous enough to leave two pairs.
Two pairs. A person cannot live with two pairs of underwear. Now, none of this would be a problem were I living in America. It might cost a lot replacing nearly every pair of underwear you own, but it’s not an unjumpable hurtle.
But here I am, in Thailand, Land of the World’s Tiniest Women. I don’t know where the fat ladies get their underwear here (or clothes in general), but it can’t just be at any old store. I know. I go into stores and am told “Oh, very big size. No have.” I am a Thai XL.
So I venture into the local underwear store, and it’s like a Victoria’s Secret for malnourished children. I peruse the bras. Nothing over a 34/75, which I have learned through comparison shopping, will almost hold Win’s chest if he doesn’t breathe. Out of luck in the bra department, I head over to the underwear to give that a try. I ask, as I have grown accustomed to, for the large sizes. “Free size,” the girl behind the counter responds, glancing up her magazine. This is Thai Engrish for One Size Fits All.
I bought the stretchiest, biggest underwear they had in the place, steering clear of those with patterns acceptable only for eight-year-olds. They were cheap: I got 12 pairs for 240 baht (8 dollars), and thank goodness for that. About half of them turned out to be acceptable, the other half not so much. Although I suppose that if I sewed about four pairs together I could get one regular-sized pair of underwear.
