Some of the best years of my life were in my mid 20s. I had the job of my dreams (celebrity booker at one of the biggest men’s magazines in the world), I’d finally moved out of home (it took a while, mum took such good care of me!) and I was discovering sex, drugs, booze and fun. I was also totally game for a laugh.
It was like any other day in the office. One of the guys at work was mooching over Craigslist and seeing what weirdness he could find. Oh how we’d laugh at the weirdos who were looking for all manner of absurdities. There was the man looking for a woman with kidney failure. One chap was seeking a slave and another bloke just wanted to give cunnilingus. The only condition being, you’d have to treat this guy to dinner afterwards (KFC anyone?).
Office bloke laughed at some American dude who wanted to buy lady's worn underwear. In typical Dani style (my mouth operating before my brain actually kicks into gear) I piped up “Shall I sell him my knickers?”. The guys thought this would be a great idea, and really, I didn’t need much encouragement.
I dropped the knicker-sniffer an email which went a little something like this: “Hi, I saw your advert on Craigslist. I’m a British twentysomething girl. Would you like to buy my underwear?” I got an immediate response: “Yes. I will pay you $20 for them. Please wear them as long as possible and then send them sealed to me to this address.” Okidokie.
The office thought this was hilarious. I was tickled by it, my thought being, lets give the man what he wants. But now there were lots of decisions to be made. Which thong do I send him? How long do I wear it for? Have I lost my mind?
In all honesty, I actually never questioned myself once if what I was doing was wrong. It was funny, right? Right?
The day had come and I purposefully selected an off-white thong I wouldn’t mind giving up from Miss Selfridge. It was also a thong that was made of a synthetic blend of materials, which I thought might encourage odour [gah! Although in my experience you should have inexplicably worn tights under skinny jeans - works every time. ].
I showered in the morning, popped on my thong, ran for the bus, went to work and spent the day sweating a fair amount. That evening I got home and thought I would work up a sweat to encourage maximum sniffing potential, so I did some cleaning and wore the hell out of this g-string. I even slept in the bloody thing, and I’ve never sleep in a thong (it’s just not comfy). Clearly I was taking this very seriously.
The next morning I took them off, bagged them in a sealable sandwich bag, packed them into a jiffy envelope and sent them across the seas to their new home. Bon voyage off-white thong! You were uncomfortable anyway and pinched my hips too much.
I emailed the dude to let him know they were in transit, to which he replied saying he would now post me $20. Kerching!
The office was provided with an updated knicker-sniffer report and a few days later there was an email in my inbox from said sniffer which I proudly read aloud to my colleagues: “The underwear arrived today. Thank you. You are very lightly scented so I will not be requiring anymore from you.” Totally and utterly dissed!
I told my mum about my short lived money-making enterprise (my mum knows everything about me) to which she replied, ‘You should have sold him mine – they bloody stink.’ Cheers mum.
Dani is tweeting, not necessarily about her knickers @danigraph.