Unmentionables

I hate, with a passion, buying new undergarments. Well, to be more specific, I really just hate bra shopping. Underwear (I don't like the word "panties." It makes me feel like a little kid or a stripper and the two images should never be combined,) is almost a love affair for me. I used to have over 100 until Dan told me I could not expand my underwear drawer into two underwear drawers.

Bras however, I break into a cold sweat when I have to buy new ones. I would rather just continually push up falling bra straps than buy a new bra. It's such a hassle to buy them. The ones I like are typically no longer being made, because Bali and Vanity Fair have a conspiracy against me. So that forces me to try on a kajillion (approximate number) of new ones. Many times, the salespeople will see that I am in a small panic over $30 worth of satin and lace, and they will offer to measure me. How, HOW EXACTLY, will a stranger touching my shirtless body make me feel better? No thank you.

This means I am shut in a dressing room by myself. Just me against the braziers. I stand back and survey all of them, deciding to start with the ones that cost the least. More often than not, I find something wrong with each. Wrong color, wrong fit, wrong pattern of lace. I even discarded one once because the clear straps weren't clear enough. Yes, I am that neurotic. I typically whittle a few dozen down to two. One that is outrageously expensive, and the other that is on clearance. Logically, I should not fall in love with clearance bra and only buy that one because it will not only mean that I have to continue the bra shopping process, but it will frustrate me when that bra inevitably gets worn out. But am I logical when in the face of extreme bra shopping? Of course not. So, using my penny pinching logic, I buy the clearance bra and skip merrily home. Until Dan points out that I was supposed to buy at least 4 to replace my 4 worn out ones. I then turn into a pouty 5 year old and stomp my feet and whine at the prospect of being dragged back to the department stores. Dan has been forced, more than once, to accompany me back to the stores in order to ensure that I actually purchase the required number of garments. I wish I had lived in the 60's, when the bra shunning movement began. (Not the mythical "bra burnings" mind you. Those never happened and are just a widespread rumor that no source has ever been able to confirm. Yes, I was a Women's Studies minor. Bit o' trivia for you there. The bra burning part, not the Women's Studies minor part. Wait, what was this blog about?)