This morning I took my mother bra shopping. To buy her a bra.
I would venture to say that most women can identify with the horror that is bra shopping. Whether you wear an A cup or a DD, most of the time it's akin to having a tooth pulled, and if given the choice, I think I'd rather have a tooth pulled.
To make my bra shopping experience easier, I have narrowed my bra of choice down to a particular size and style and rarely deviate from the one that fits and looks the best. I buy several colors and rotate them often so they don't get lonely, but I'm not the kind of woman to have ten different styles in my drawer at once.
Most bras in a good store, seem to run between thirty-two dollars and sixty-five dollars, which can really add up once you start stocking your inventory. Victoria's Secret really has some racket considering you're buying something most people won't even see. And if you think guys care about lingerie; after it winds up on the floor, ask them to describe it for you. I bet you nine out of ten guys couldn't tell you the color, let alone if it had lace, flowers or beaded straps.
But if you do have the kind of guy who cares that much about lingerie, send him the La Perla site, where he can find bras that sell for up to $280.00 each. Yes, just for the bra. I don't even think La Perla even makes a 42DD, so even if Ed wanted to spend almost three hundred dollars on a bra for me, he couldn't. Damn.
If you're buying said lingerie to "feel good about yourself" then I suppose you likely have more issues than can be addressed her. And if you need to feel good by wearing something that costs more than a car payment, then you probably should be sailing the Aegean Sea on your yacht instead of reading my blog.
That aside, I was not in La Perla with my mother, I was at the local mall looking at bras. She never knows what size she is and always buys something too big. And she has a long list of requirements. Nothing lacy cause it itches. No seams across the cup. Nothing sheer. Should have wide straps. Doesn't like push-ups. Nothing water filled or demi-cut. She wants comfort without underwire. I'm a big underwire fan, as it lends shape and support, but for her, I try to find a sling that has no underwire, yet still creates a pleasing silhouette. I take eight bras into the dressing room.
My mother has a bit of arthitis, so the repetitive snapping and unsnapping of the bras is a little hard on her hands. Twice a day to get dressed in the morning and undressed at night is fine, but sixteen times in the span of twenty minutes is too much, so I offer to help. BIG mistake. There is no choice but to start giving orders.
"Put your arms through here."
"No. No. No. Lean forward and tuck them in."
"Lift them up, Mom, UP."
I can't honestly say anyone would like to hear "lift them up" when it has to do with putting their breasts in a bra.
"Now adjust them. Push them in. Make cleavage. Straighten the nipple. What are you doing??"
"I'll be right back with another style."
"Stop clacking your tongue."
She's obviously annoyed now with all the fuss and the back and forth.
"Stand up and let me tighten the strap."
She's lucky I didn't tighten the strap around her neck. It was like shopping with a petulant five year old who plops defiantly on their ass in the middle of the grocery store every time you yank their arm and tell them to stand up. Bra shopping for myself is bad enough, but this was a million times worse.
We finally walked out with two acceptable bras, meeting Ed just outside the store. His cheery, "So, how'd it go??" was immediately squashed by my I don't want to talk about it look.
I made it to forty years old without ever having to take my mother bra shopping; do you think two new bras can last her another forty?
I can only hope.