Airing Our Laundry: How Much Is Too Much?

Sheesh.

There they were again. Blue ones. Striped ones. Even…banana yellow ones. And let’s not forget the faded green ones with brown (or were they purple?) polka dots.

Hung with calculated precision next to the flapping brassieres, but wedged delicately between an assortment of bath towels, dish rags, and knee socks, were Mr. Fletcher’s boxer shorts. Again.

Over on the next clothesline was another visual treat: the usual array of women’s “unmentionables” (often referred to as granny panties), three plaid work shirts, three pairs of khaki-colored work pants, and a handful of blouses and ladies dress socks.

I always wondered if Mrs. Fletcher really thought their undergarments wouldn’t be as noticeable sandwiched  between the rest of the daily laundry. Didn’t she realize that folks weren’t blind?

Every angle afforded a crystal clear view of her and her teacher-husband’s intimate apparel.

And every time there was even the slightest bit of a breeze, the parade of clothing would flap gloriously this way and that as if taking flight against a fitting backdrop of gorgeous blue sky.

When I was a little girl almost everyone had a clothesline, and it wasn’t uncommon for folks to use them about 7 months out of the year.

It wasn’t a rarity to see a banner of underwear blowing in the wind, but some families were a little more discrete than others, preferring to hang certain clothing items indoors over drying racks and not outside in broad daylight. (At least that was my own momma’s method.)

Of course it’s not as shocking now, but as an adolescent growing up a few decades ago, the mere word “underpants” was enough to send a group of seventh grade girls entirely over the edge. We could giggle for hours just thinking about the term. It was a taboo topic. Never mind the fact that everyone wore underwear (or we assumed they did.) We just didn’t talk about it.

What made it all the more blush-worthy was the fact that Mr. Fletcher taught school.

Thankfully, I never had him for a teacher–it was embarrassing enough to picture stuff-shirt, no-nonsense Mr. Fletcher in purple polka-dotted boxer shorts during lunchroom duty. (I just knew if I looked at him cross-eyed that he’d know I’d seen Mrs. Fletcher’s clotheslines the day before. After all, the Fletchers’ house was in my direct path to and from school. I walked it almost every day.)

I wouldn’t have a prayer if Mr. Fletcher paused at my lunch table for any length of time. My cheeks would most certainly give me away.

And Heaven help me if I laughed! Rumor had it that the last student who dared to “cut up” under the strict disciplinarian’s watch was never heard from again. Or…at least for a day or two. He’d been banished to the island of misfit toys (AKA the problem kids’ table) where he had to eat his lunch in complete silence and lose recess privileges. But I digress.

Those vivid images of yesterday march across my memory now and then. I think about how casually folks “air their laundry” now.

Hanging clean underpants out on a clothesline today is about as unseemly as a glass of water. Nothing shocking about a drink from the tap. Everybody does it.

But that leads me to another thought.

What is unseemly? What is considered unacceptable?

As a writer of contemporary Christian romance novels, I weigh every nuance of anything remotely suggestive in my work. Is it necessary to the story? Is it integral to the plot? Will it turn my readers off or will it convey the fact that we are all real, flesh and bone folks with human frailties?

In other words, how much is too much?

I’ll be delving more into this topic on Friday’s post.

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Please sound off. Is there any subject in Christian fiction you feel should not be addressed?

What’s an example of something that might have seemed “shocking” to you several years ago, but is completely accepted as the norm now?

(*Names above have been changed.)

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