Carol’s Column

Naked truth of saying goodbye

It is no joke to wake up naked. Figuratively speaking, of course. Literally, to wake up naked is fun. They say.

Meanwhile, in the past week I have been stripped. By my only unmarried daughter — she of the dark eyes and sea urchin lashes, she of the baggy T-shirts and ethnic sandals, she of the Johnny Clegg Adoration Society, she of the lettuce and feta cheese diet.

My wardrobe began disappearing on Monday. It was a slow, imperceptible disappearance and I only really noticed it when I attempted to dress.

"Dammit, I can't find my strapless bra. Have you taken my strapless bra?" I asked my husband who, like a Titian painting, emerged from the bathroom pink and rosy.

"Huh?" he replied.

"The cream lacy one with the underwire support to create largesse where there is none?" I repeated.

"Why would I have borrowed your bra?" he said. "And what can you possibly imagine I might put into it?"

In marriage one learns that some things are better left unsaid. However, this is not something that I have ever subscribed to so I told him.

He was not happy. Meanwhile, my bra had vanished.

"Nicky, have you got my bra?" I asked my daughter.

"Oh, Ma, I wanted to talk to you about the bra," said my daughter. "I've packed it for Cape Town because I haven't got a strapless bra and I know you hardly ever wear it. I meant to tell you," she added with the winning smile that is widespread among wanting offspring.

"Keep it," I said magnanimously, "so what if I look like a cheese board."

"Ma, nobody will notice," she said.

On Tuesday I discovered my shirt from Madagascar with the cute embroidered rainbow figures had disappeared. Along with my patchwork skirt and cerise fish-skin boots.

This time I didn't even bother to ask my spouse if he'd borrowed them, I went straight to my daughter.

"Ma, I haven't borrowed them," said Nicky, "I've appropriated them in much the same way that land may be appropriated from whites in order to recompense blacks who've been viciously discriminated against in the past."

"When have I viciously discriminated against you?" I asked my daughter.

"Ma, I was just making a point," she said. "Think laterally."

However, it was my lateral vision, not thought, that helped me discover my wardrobe was virtually bare.

My daughter was momentarily contrite.

"Ma, I'm desperate," she said when I demanded back my three pairs of shorts, seven shirts, four dresses and two jackets. "I've got simply nothing to wear. Do you want me attending lectures in the nude?"

"Yes," I said.

Finally Nicky and her seven suitcases were ready to depart.

"Well, at least she's left me my Calvin Klein look-alike baggies and my made-in-Taiwan Dior shirt," I muttered to my husband.

Just then, my third youngest unmarried son entered the room. He looked quite smart really in my Calvin Klein look-alike baggies and made-in-Taiwan Dior shirt.

"Okay, Ma, we're ready to leave," said Jamie.

Later, we drove home from Jan Smuts in silence. "Don't you think that was a little extreme?" said my husband eventually.

"I don't know what you mean," I answered.

"You were the only mother waving her children goodbye without a stitch of clothes on," he said.

"Rubbish," I snapped. "I was wearing takkies."

I can't stand exaggeration.

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