Oh those girls!
For most women a relationship with their girls is a love/hate thing, they're too big, too small, mismatched, droopy. I've never met a girl who was perfectly content with her girls, and I'm no different then the average gal I suppose.
I am an..., uhh, hmm, significantly busted gal and have noticed that each of my girls has a personality all her own, which makes bra shopping a daunting challenge.
Friday night before Mothers Day I was left alone with the girls whilst Adorable Hubby took his sons camping.
After some discussion my lovely ladies suggested that it really was time for a new bra. It has taken over two years of whining and complaining, culminating in the girls issuing a not so empty threat to bust the established perimeters of our relationship and host their own episode of "Girls Gone Wild", airing during peak family viewing hours not the usual late, late night venue.
Warning:
Tender Reader, feel free to continue reading but be advised, shopping with the girls, for the girls, is an adventure for the bravest of souls.So, with the girls strapped precariously in their worn safety harnesses, a wad of cash in hand, a glob of trepidation in soul, we three set out.
It was a balmy evening, setting sunny rays lighted the spring green leaves and grasses along our path to the mall. A gentle breeze couldn't dry the sick trickle of sweat tracing a path between my shoulder blades as I marched resolutely through the parking lot.
The girls giggled with nervous anticipation, I swallowed a floppy lump of pride and approached the sales girl.
She spoke with just the hint of a Spanish accent, the girls were thrilled, they don't get out much, meeting a foreigner added a spark of mystery to our excursion.
"May I touch you?" She sounded like Antonio Banderas in a Lane Bryant sales girl role.
"Umm, sure." As I raised my arms above my head the girls attempted an escape.
"If we split up she'll never catch us." One darted high the other slipped low.
"You musst try zees new back smoother bra!". The sales girl shouted. Every mothers day shopper in the store, possibly the mall, turned to stare.
"Wooo! HOO!" Screamed the girls, distracted from their escape attempt.
"ok" I whispered.
30 minutes later, being trapped in a dressing room with two girls on the loose, upwards of 20 different bras being shoved under the door by Antonio's louder sister, and only the tattered, dingy remnants of a bygone support system for courage was wearing on the three of us.
And, that's when, "da girl on da right hand side" (help me out, isn't there a song with that line as a lyric) got feisty. Now, it's not like Rightee isn't know for her antics, she's always and forever pushing the boundaries, she lives on the edge, one unexpected jounce away from public indecency, and, she's sneaky about it, playing the introvert all the while sneaking out the side or casually slipping her way south; but, with a dressing room full of Mothers Day shoppers and the sales girl giving her way to much attention for her antics she was out of control.
There we were, Rightee being naughty, leftee hanging out peacefully her extroverted appearance masking a demure personality, sales girl popping in, at increasingly frustrating intervals, to poke and prod, frown and "ai yai yai!" hands in the air. Finally, just as the girls and I were ready to give up and head over to Chick Fillet we twisted, wriggled and shimmied into a bra that seemed to work... if we leaned slightly forward with one shoulder, twisted at the waist a bit and turned our head to one side.
By this time our sales girl, having joined the partay in the dressing room, turning her back at key moments, was barely containing her exacerbation with the whole thing. As we turned to her, a hesitantly triumphal light in our eyes, did her face light up with success? No, she too twisted her head to one side, frowned, tried a different head position, threw her hands out expletively (work with me on my expressive writing here) and proclaimed at the top of her lungs, "NO! Somezing izz WRONG!!!" She poked Rightee, a mad light in her eye, then stormed out, muttering "We have only one more option..."
I gotta confess, I cried a little just then. Leftee glared at Rightee, Rightee hung her head, but cheekily. The sales girl returned, she didn't bother to turn her back, we wiggled into the last option, turned to the sales girl and waited...she pursed her lips, nodded, made the finger motion to spin us around, we spun, we waited, "ZEES IS PERFECT! She announced at the top of her lungs to every Mothers Day shopper in the store, possibly the mall.
I gotta confess, I cried a little more.
The girls cheered!
A Happy Mothers Day for me and the girls and Antonio's Lane Bryant sister, until we heard the price. Gasp!
The Girls insisted they were worth it, Antonio's sister insisted we were worth it. Sigh!
Girls, girls, girls, it's a love/hate thing.
I should have suspected that it would take the help of an actual super hero to get Laundry Room looking this good. I'm not surprised that Bruce Banner got very angry at Laundry Room what with piles of wet sandy shorts and t-shirts, mounds of jeans and sweatshirts because, hello? it snowed two weeks ago. And, I'm sure he popped a button or two when he noticed clean folded clothes, boys didn't put away, cleverly mixed in with sweaty, stinky football girdles and grass stained socks. I'm guessing it was the used once tossed on the floor towels that made my pal Bruce furious enough to transform into the Hulk. Whatever did the trick I was just thrilled that he was there until...
