When things wear out & need to be replaced, value for what little money we have, is very important.
Which brings me to the vexing question of "Buying a Bra".
I have, in fact, blogged about this before. But in case some of you missed it, I thought I would share my recent misadventures, attempting to do the impossible.
First I tried a local outlet, which promises Bargains. Humph! Bargains would be a fine thing, if there was one item in the whole huge shop, which was in my size.
They have acres of bras, hanging on little plastic hangers-
They have bras for the pre-pubescant girls~ why do they bother?
They have bras for anorexics, in pretty colours, in pretty styles.
They have padded bras. Wired bras. Stuffed bras. Striped bras. Leery neon coloured bras. Black sexy bras. Pale pastel dreams in lace & froth.
They have bras like huge great trusses! They look as if they are made for cows! (Maybe they are?)
No, I didn't actually see any like these! Perhaps it would have made a nice change to have a laugh at.
Instead of feeling more & more desperate as I went about the shops, wearing my almost shredded & over stretched, unflattering, old bra, ~you know the one. The one they ceased making, the minute you found it fit, & was comfortable. Plus affordable.
It seems as if some cosmic conspiracy tells manufacturers when a person finds a bra that fits. Production immediately ceases. All stock is hastily got rid of.. who knows where, because you never can find them on sale or even slightly reduced.
I could say "Tough Titties" -but I won't.
Most of them did. But still, none of them had my size. WTH?? I am not a freak!
I stomped on further. Still no luck.
Finally, at an unlikely shop, I find not one, not two, not even three, but Four!! styles in my size. Two of the styles even come in colours!! Well... that is if you count black, white, & skin, as 'colours'.
Grasping them in my hot & weary little hand, I rush off to the 'fitting rooms.' The only thing 'fitting' about them is, the closeness of the walls!
It is downright claustrophobic in the damn cubicle, with the tattery ill fitting curtain to pull across. Always cut meanly, so they dont quite cover the doorway.
As if a generous cut would cut into their profit margin. Of course a real door that closed, would mean certain bankruptcy, I suppose, so that is out of the question too. I suppose I should be gratefull there is a mirror.
So I struggle out of my upper clothes,
then become horrified that there IS a mirror...OMG! Who is that?? O hell! It must be me, there is no space in here for anyone but me!
As is usual with these fitting rooms, there is no airconditioning, & you struggle & sweat & squirm about trying on the bras. Crikey! They all look hideous. Well, wait... perhaps 2 of them feel quite comfortable almost. A third seems as if it might last well. Who knows how they actually look?
By now the temperature in the small cubicle is up to sizzle point, so you hastily struggle back into your tattered undergarment. Don your top. Lurch out to hand in the little tag that indicates how many garments you tried.
noting, that the vague girl at the desk is on the phone, & doesnt even bother to check whether you are in fact holding all the 'returns'. For all she cares you might have 10 bras on, under your lumpy top.
The horror story doesn't really end there.
You go home, retry your bras, think philosophically, oh well, they are not pretty nor are they exactly what you had in mind, but, they will have to do.
Launder said garments. Proceed to wear them, one after other.
The first, is like some hideous harness, & not of the racing variety either. It pokes you in odd places, & suddenly seems to feel & look, quite different to what it did in the mirror- either shop or home. Why are the straps so fat & ugly? Comfort you say? whose comfort, I wonder??
Why do they make them in such hideous colours. Are larger people not allowed to have a bit of pretty? or at least attractive?
The second 2 are not much better. It seems you cannot really tell just how good or bad, the fit of a bra, is likely to be, until you have worn it around for at least 4 hours.
It is indeed a shame there is no way you can 'test drive' your garments, to see if they will be a fit or failure.
So keep the old tattereds for home wear, until they finally shred, & have to go.
Today is my youngest son's birthday.
Today is my youngest son's birthday.
As it does every year, it has brought memories flooding back of the joyous day he was born.
Because our birthdays are so close, we usually have a get together somewhere about the time, to celebrate both birthdays.
He is coming to stay, so it will be lovely to see him, as always.
Happy Birthday Son B.
This song is just for him.
He has always loved this one.
Kris Kristofferson, Darby's Castle.