March 21, 2017
I was feeling up the challenge. This is a special one. Every woman knows of what I speak. I ventured to shop for ladies undergarments. I actually wrote down, the formula, numbers and sizes and whatnot, for a daily wear piece of apparel. Bonus ! I wrote that down, remembered that I had done that, then remembered where I put it. Thus that took me two minutes to try it on, and ten to find the book I wrote it down in. But I digress.
I had held on, as long as I could. I let the dryer incinerate therefore shrink back into place, the enscapsulating material, But all good things must come to an end, and this little known secret was no longer working out. I was in fact having wardrobe malfunctions at boot camp. One of the girls was running away on her own, under the torn t-shirt and so forth. It was time.
OFF we went, while we are guest less to the only store left standing in this neo-liberated era. The giant, box store from the Mid west of the Un-tied States. While venturing thru the liquidation section, found misplaced sports undergarments., in my size and ON SALE! I would discover a whole dept of regularly priced in another section, these were left to guide me to that dept.
The question is just how to purchase a new set. One has to, I have found, have help. I have needed help for a long time, it seems you can get it if you look for it. I took with me about 19 different kinds, colors and styles into the florescent glare of the mirrors. I assure you NO one but MOI will ever see the Berlin Wall of unmentionables.
The first was a spider web of snaps, straps, hinges and padding. It went for the throat. The saleslady assured me that they are frequently called to tackle the elastic wound around a lady’s head. Since it would not gather, tuck and pull the appropriate body part, this style and make was dis-guarded.
Now I ventured into knights of the round table territory. These garments look like and act like a Brinks Truck. These babies are not beautiful. They are industrial, cold gray or black, designed by a football drill Sargent. (like bouncing busty old spinster would want pretty.) Material employed, is from the auto-industry, similar to a bag deployed when you have had a crash. The intention was to keep things still. I shouldered on.
You had to literally loosen the once was 4 inches of area dynamic, rubber-like material, now concentrated into say an inch and a half around your head and neck, taking your breathe away. Partially glued to your scalp, being aided and abetted by perspiration, every inch of quibble and wobble revealed half naked in a ladies change room. If, if, if, you are lucky, and we all know I am not, you tear it free from your neck and smooth it down. Smooth is an incorrect terms, slick with sweat, labor, push, and drive it over. Heaving a sigh, and anything else that could go in. The last attempt, THE test, to see if might remotely be “the one.” (if only you could do this with men.) You kickoff an aerobic workout in the changing room. No one handed push ups or anything like that, just gentle leaping around a room that have fixtures attached to the walls, appendages of metal, to catch you if you fall.
You have to discover just what route they are taking to get to the bank. There are two places it seems you can hang your head. Discovering on the second venture the correct hole. Gives a whole new meaning to “hole in one.” Executive decision made. Onwards,! to the reversal of the trails and terrors thus befallen you. If only life could be this lenient with reversing the procedures and processes, that have encumbered the unsaid, the spoken, promises, friendships and diatribes., When obstacles arise, you change your direction to reach your goal; you do not change your decision to get there.
Moi and Miss Lucy P