Last week I decided to go shopping for a bra. The one I wear every day is finally losing any possibility of holding anything up!
Last week I decided to go shopping for a bra. The one I wear every day is finally losing any possibility of holding anything up! You may be wondering why I only have one bra. Well I do have several, but each one subjects me to various forms of torture that include pain, reduced oxygen supply from underwire hell, and strap marks that resemble gullies left by dried-up riverbeds.
Oh, yes, I know there are probably bras out there that fit well, and believe me, I’ve made many efforts to find them. They seem to feel OK initially, but then over a period of time they turn against me like a caged animal.
I decided this time I’m going to a store that has “bra specialists.” I’m assigned a salesperson with a foreign accent that makes her sound like she might have been in a World War II movie. She has a full figure and carries a tape measure as if it were a badge of honor. She takes lots of measurements and then asks many questions about my lifestyle.
She then decides on several selections that just might do the trick. Then it’s time to go into the dressing room with “Helga” to get her input and suggestions. But first she explains how to put the bra on. This in itself is an art and one that I have never seemed to be able to imitate. She babbles on about getting proper alignment, and all I can think of is my mechanic, who uses the same terminology when talking about the tires on my car.
Finally, I am in the bra, all lined up and everything is at attention. She mentions that my old bra wasn’t doing anything for me. Well, I never asked it to do anything for me. I didn’t realize we had a partnership. She convinces me that I must buy the bra and a few others that have the same construction. Now I’m beginning to feel like I should have on a hard hat and be able to drive a truck.
So I trust her judgment and start to feel euphoric, like I finally found the holy grail of bras. But after several days I start to feel twinges of pain. I think I should endure even if it is simply to honor “Helga” and her quest to help women conquer becoming vertically challenged.
But then I decide to literally release myself from bra prison and just let everything float freely and naturally. Hey, it just may be time to “let go and let loose.”
Author, humorist, PBS star and Fortune 500 trainer Loretta LaRoche lives in Plymouth, Mass. To share your pet peeves, questions or comments, write to The Humor Potential, 50 Court St., Plymouth, MA 02360, send email to email@example.com, visit the website at www.stressed.com or call toll-free 800-998-2324.