Who the hell invented bras, and who the hell says we have to wear them????
Who likes bras? Well, I don’t know many people, women, who do. On two different occasions, maybe three, I have gone bra shopping with family and friends, spending many, many hours in dressing rooms, thinking that I have found the ONE. Then a couple of days later I returned all them much to the dismay of my helpers. As you will note in some other Sidetracked Sisters’ posts I am not very popular in this department.
Bra shopping is an event that comes along very rarely in my life. Several years ago, I found a bra that fit well and I keep buying the same make and model over and over in different colors but mostly flesh color. I know, boring.
Frankly, my first choice, when I’m not out in public, is to go without. I find it much more comfortable. I was delighted when I recently read a report that said going without was better because it built up your chest muscles. All right! I’m happy to comply and all in.
One day, several years ago, my sister and I decided to go bra shopping for her. She never could find a bra that she liked. We spent three+ hours in the “intimates” department picking out pretty bras, utilitarian bras, lacy bras, and plain bras. She would hang out in the fitting room and I would bring in different sizes, colors, and styles. She would try them on and we would both laugh hysterically. Very quickly the fitting room was filled with rejects.
After many false starts, we settled on 3 bras that she felt were just right. The final picks were not too big, not too small, but just right. It was a bit of a goldilocks moment. We selected a few pairs of underwear to match and called it good. I was exhausted and she was quiet.
About a week later, I asked Sandy how the new bras were working out. She got quiet again and wouldn’t make eye contact. She finally confessed. The Monday after our intense shopping excursion, she had returned all the purchases we had made and continued to wear her old, worn-out bra. I couldn’t believe my ears.
I have always wanted to have a professional bra fitting, however, after my escapade with Sandy, I think it can wait.
What do I love about myself is the question of the day. It’s a challenging question to answer because people tend to focus more on the negative aspects of themselves. I’m choosing to try to be more positive, so I’m actually having a hard time picking just one thing. That will most likely sound conceited to some. Here are a few things that I’m proud of about myself.
What does it mean if I can’t tell a joke? I can’t even remember a joke. I only know one joke aficionado who, when he tells a joke, I impatiently wait for the end and try (often unsuccessfully) to NOT roll my eyes. Continue reading →
O.K. there are a lot of jokes out there that are funny I must admit. I happen to have a significant other, a/k/a husband, who loves to tell jokes. How he remembers so many is beyond me. I hear a joke which I actually feel I should share and, of course, I can’t remember the stupid joke.
“Rectum? Damn near killed him!” – “Liquor? I hardly know her!”
These are my two favorite jokes – or rather punch lines to jokes. I don’t know where I first heard either of these or what the actual jokes are, but I find both so funny. I don’t care how often I say them – they always make me chuckle. After years of hearing these over and over, my kids just roll their eyes and tell me I’m not very funny.
All of my life, as I remember it, I have been very aware of color. My older sister always looked so pretty, so for the first many years that I could choose colors, I copied her example. I constantly asked myself why I looked washed out and dumpy when she looked wonderful?
I used to be so proud of myself. When others would tell about vegging in front of the tv or watching a movie marathon all weekend, I would feel the smug self-satisfaction of accomplishment. I prided myself on creating artsy stuff, crafts, and steadily remodeling my home.