1. I am a 40-year-old woman without a single matching set of underwear to my name.

2. I am a 40-year-old woman who just tried to type ‘lingerie’ instead of ‘underwear’ and couldn’t.

3. I am a 40-year-old woman who has never been bought a single item (or, obviously, set of) underlingweargerie by a man.

4. Or friend.

5. Or even a random pervert.

6. But I do own 136 pairs of knickers, 16 uncomfortable bras, 202 pairs of black socks and tights and four pairs of Spanx.

Which means the unavoidable truth is…

“I’m a rabidly unsensual, repressed failure of a woman,” I announce when my husband comes in to find out what all the noisy slamming of drawers is about.

“Yes?” he says politely, obviously feeling this cannot be news to me.

“And why have you never bought me any nice ling…linge…nnggh… knickers or bras and stuff?”

“I did!” he says. “Once. I bought you a matching set and you gave me a speech on the corrosive effect of lace on labia, your unswerving commitment to the cotton gusset and how your boobs were too small to deserve nice things.”

“You should have ignored me.”

“Yes, because that always goes well.”

I change the subject, slightly. “And why have I got 136 pairs of knickers and 202 pairs of black socks and tights?” I ask. “Why haven’t I got a reasonable number? Like… 10 of each?”

“Because you only manage to put a wash on every 136 days or so?” he hazards. “If you only had 10 of everything… well, it would not be savoury. Also, you refuse to throw anything away unless it is broken beyond repair. It’s my understanding that socks and knickers rarely break. Ergo, you have never thrown any of them away. You are sort of an idiot, in that respect.”

“Right,” I decide. “So – you do it. Throw away what shouldn’t be here. No, not those – those are my period pants…”

“Oh, sweet mysteries of womanhood, how sorry I am that ever daylight was let in upon your magic.”

“Shut up. Choose 10. No, 20. Who manages a wash every 10 days? People with staff. Robot staff. Yeah, people with robot staff, that’s who.”

“I don’t think…”

“Shut up. Just choose. I’m going to start on my jeans. Oh god, my jeans. Look, when was the last time I got into these?!”

So. I’m a totally disorganised, mindless hoarder-slash-useless-laundry-avoider. See what I mean? Unwanted truths, everywhere. We’re going to need a bigger skip.

“Beware the cold, hard truths of your underwear drawer” Lucy Mangan on the secrets of our smalls