1960's magazine ad "I dreamed I posed for a Fashion Ad in my maidenform bra."
My last post would have you thinking I love to shop. Quite the opposite. That poetry was the product of a long-ago writing class. The first one was an attempt at a poem with a double meaning. I posted them to stall until my brain recovered from the weekend with house full of people I love. Anyway, to me shopping is a chore. I purchase things such as clothing only when necessary and when alone. I refuse to subject others, especially guys, to waiting in an uncomfortable chair outside a store dressing room, thumbing through a worn issue of Is Martha Stewart Living? while I stand in the stall and stare at my sorry self in a mirror.
The most dreaded item on my clothing list is a brassiere. Because I hate this shopping task with passion, I have rules about the job that help ease the misery.
• Buy quality. I don’t want to do this any more often than necessary.
• Because quality is expensive buy only two—one to wear and one to wash.
• Keep the old ones until certain the new ones won’t try to kill me (like the underwire one that tried to stab me while I was standing in line at the bank; or the one with four hooks that tried to take a bite out of my back; or the other underwire one that almost got me strip-searched at airport security). I don’t wear underwires any more.
• Always try them on. Even if, by some miracle, I find the same brand and size when I return two or three years after the last purchase—there is no guarantee they will still fit the same. Things change.
• Since there are always a thousand kinds to choose from; take as many varieties of the estimated size into the dressing room as possible at once. Bribe the sentry at the door if necessary. I don’t want to expose my saggy white ladies to store air conditioning in a public place any more often than necessary. Of course this is where a shopping buddy would be helpful. But I am too inhibited to expect someone else to assist, especially with this one.
• When a bra is finally selected, have a second choice since there will only be one of that kind and size in the store.
• Take care of those objects of torture. Even though I would be sold for hamburger if I were a dairy cow, I still need something to stop the flapping. So keep the bras clean and in some state of repair until, alas, the purchase of new ones becomes necessary.
1960's magazine ad, "I dreamed I went to blazes in my maidenform bra."