Armenian Underwear

Quick. Close your eyes. Imagine Armenian underwear. Yes, underwear made in the former Soviet Union. OK, open up. What did you see? If they were big, white, and totally nondescript, then you got it right.

Close your eyes again. Imagine buying Armenian underwear. Where would you be, besides Armenia? Well, today I was walking down the stairs to an underground market and saw a large, wooden board spread across some crates sporting piles of white, very white underwear, sorted by size, I think. They looked like men’s underwear, or they could have been old-lady underwear. I never got close enough to see. Maybe they appeared so white today because it was so gray outside. Spitting rain.

We were on a landing a third of the way down and there was a steady stream of people pushing by. Definitely a good place for foot traffic, or should I say butt traffic, but not a good place to stop and browse. But people were. Women were. I saw one woman holding up a pair and stretching them at the waist.

I maneuvered past the second landing, fighting my way past people bunched up at the Xerox store waiting to get copies made, and finally made it to the main selling area. This underground market is shaped like the spokes on a wheel and also serves as the way to move from one street to another instead of getting injured making your way across and around the traffic circle above.

So, I’m trying to make my way down a spoke toward the inner circle in search of slippers for my son. And what happens next? Bras assault me. Yes, bras. Colored bras. Leopard- skin bras. Displayed on shapely body forms, no less, right at eye level. How would you appreciate a poke in the eye from that? Fortunately, this kiosk was also crowded with women so I was able to go with the flow and narrowly avoid a collision. This kiosk, what little I could see, was very colorful.

I did manage to find slippers for my son. And now I know in graphic detail what people might wearing under their clothes. Way too much information.