We are just wrapping up a performance week for Princess. With stagings, dress rehearsal, practice and what nots, I have driven to Jackson almost every day this week. Tuesday, the one day Princess didn't need to be there, K had tennis. Monday, as I was getting dressed, I could find only one foundation garment without holes and reminded myself to take care of that problem one day this week in Jackson. Thursday, I put on a bra that had been sprung, if you know what I mean. The fabric had lost its resiliency. The straps were only flimsy reminders of what once had been. I had no choice but to wear the thing because no laundry had been done this week and I had forgotten to replenish my stock.
By the time we got to Jackson, my shoulders were screaming. I saw a red target and saw it as a liberator. I drove across three lanes of traffic, hurdled up the off ramp, and wheeled into what I believed would be foundation heaven.
My 12 year old son, said "Oh, mom do you have to do this now?" I assured him I did. My 8 year old daughter skipped around choosing totally inappropriate items for me and herself. For summer I prefer foundation garments to be heavy on cotton and heavy on support. In Mississippi, it gets hot, hot, hot, hot, hot!! And isn't gardening a sport? So, I wasn't all that excited by the orange, yellow, red, and green nylon models. I wanted basic. I wanted white. I wanted comfort.
After totally alienating my son and disappointing my daughter, I found some potential candidates - only one of my size and popped it in my cart.
Yesterday morning, I donned the garment. Something seemed odd about the way the inside was made, but the fit and fabric were right. I ripped the tag off. Later in the day, when I was sitting at a computer in town working, I had an epiphany. Furtively I slipped my hand inside the edge of my shirt, felt for the join between the strap and the cup. Yep, there it was. A clasp. A clasp that would provide easy access.
Omen? Gosh, I hope not.