Once upon a time I was rich and carried a fat wallet. Liquidity makes people do stupid things.
Boredom makes people do stupid things. Boredom… coupled with discounts, makes people do very stupid things.
The idea of a man makes women do a great number of stupid things. Undergo moderate to excruciatingly painful beauty treatment, giggle uncontrollably, stare off into space (also almost always uncontrollably) and purchase impractical underwear.
So there I was – bored, flushed with funds, thinking of men, staring at impractical underwear, which was on discount. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Whatever little good sense the years of a humdrum, middle class upbringing had given me slowly melted to a pile of gooey mush when confronted by rows of flowers, frills, bows and lace. In my defence, they were on discount. Animal prints too.
I chanced upon this most resplendent bra, it was love at first sight. A trial was hastily conducted, a card swiped, a purchase made. Unfortunately as with most objects of infatuation, impulsiveness got the better of me. In my enthusiasm I failed to spot a basic incompatibility – it didn’t fit too well.
Unrequited love… yet another instance… sob.
I tried… oh did I try. Short of actually sowing it to my chest I used every trick at my disposal. I adjusted hooks, I adjusted strap lengths. I prayed, I sent out good vibes to the universe. Nothing worked.
Only severe shrinkage on the part of the errant brassiere or a near miraculous alteration on the part of certain parts of me would do. She stared at me derisively every time I open my cupboard to reach for a change of delicates. She mocked me with her lascivious pink and purple-ness. Such awful mammaries… sorry… memories. I knew I had to get rid of her. How would you feel if you had your inadequacies stare you in the face every time you opened up your lingerie drawer?
Ever since my bra debacle I’d been on the lookout for women I could thrust the darned thing on to (figuratively speaking of course). The hunt for the bra’s rightful owner involved a fare amount of impolite “observation” of the kind that is entirely unforgivable if conducted by men. I started sizing up women : friends to start with, then acquaintances and finally on to complete strangers.
Parallel to this search, in an effort to prop up my wounded ego I embarked upon a quest to find “the one”. I promptly found “the one” not to mention “the two” and “the three”. Turns out they were waiting for me, displayed in all their glory along the length and breadth of Hill Road. There they were – colourful, absurd, remarkably inexpensive and most importantly obliging. It would appear that small women don’t need discounts.
Get rid of her I did. But we parted as friends and equals (figuratively speaking of course). I realized she was meant for bigger if not necessarily better things. And I’d like to believe that I rose in her esteem... Well thats about all I could rise in anyway. Oh well...
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It has taken me 25 and some parts of the 26th year of my life to love what I see in the mirror everyday.
I dedicate this post to what I see in the mirror everyday.
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Oh and to A for taking that damned bra off my hands.
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Turns out it doesn’t fit her either. Apparently her cup(s) runneth over. Eh… bleh… C’est la vie…
