I recently went to a shopping mall - I had to, the bra situation wouldn't wait any longer. I went to the M & S lingerie department for a "fitting". A nice woman, softly-spoken with a look in her eyes that suggested she had seen it all before (the state of my underwear, my soul, me) took my measurements and brought me a selection. I tried them on for size, decided they would do and bought the lot because, as I told the nice woman, I didn't want to be coming back for another three years or so. There was a depth of understanding in her nod. You have to be in the right frame of mind for a bra-fitting, she said. Which I never am. Nor in the right frame of body, and I am not talking about the size of my Bristols. If I had spilled the beans right there in the cubicle, about the sheer cliffs of fatigue and how the mere notion of shopping mall finds me perpendicular in Babylon as I remember Zion (may the words of my mouth, O Lord, be acceptable in Thy sight), she would have sat with me and wept. At such times one depends and projects mightily on the kindness of strangers. But anyway, the story does not end there, for when I got home I found that two of the bras did not fit and had nasty hard plastic things that dug into my armpits, so back I go today for refund, for swap. Business concluded I return to the car and find myself trapped on level five for forty five minutes, it is a quarter to five, everyone wants out and there is gridlock. I telephone Mr. Signs who telephones the shopping mall who promise to alert Security. The situation resolves eventually, as things do.
Brighton tomorrow, taking mother shopping the day after, meal out with writerfriends on Thursday, curry night with neighbours on Friday, carol concert Saturday - life really does go on. And my story too, bursting to be written and asking for my undivided attention.
10 comments:
I'm so glad I'm too small for the damn things.
Rest. This time of year is especially bad for malls of any kind.
I think it's brilliant that you keep on keeping on: your social calendar is brimming. Do be careful not to overdo it though.
[I've just noticed that the word verification for this comment is 'bumsings' ---- how very apt ! Maybe you should have rolled down the window in the Mall carpark and shouted that word very very loudly ;0)]
Zhoen, I usually avoid the malls, and this time of year - nightmare.
Cusp, I am adding bumsings to my list of expletives. Fuck-a-doodle-doo just doesn't seem to cut it any more and is very 1990s (4 Weddings and a Funeral).
I am not managing (have I ever?) the pacing business. Always on the edge of coping/falling.
This had me and my teenage daughter rolling with laughter. OK, like Zhoen I am on the very small side of small, so I can do without the stuff, but there are situations . . . my daughter needs a good bra more than I do -- essential teenage accessory :) Well, the last time we vaguely managed to get to a shopping mall was in April. We tried to buy her a new pair of jeans and some winter woollies at the time. It took ALL and EVERYTHING we had in us for the next 9 months and more. The bra situation is 3+ years old and dire. We currently have one good bra between the two of us for 'emergency situations' such as going for physio or the doctor. We do have one or two old bras each of course, but well, they only do when the secret of their dilapidated 'overstretchedness' can remain safely hidden:)
Willow, I see you understand my predicament. And in my case (nature having generously endowed) this item is not an optional extra.
I buy my Bra's on line. Once I have found one that fits I order 5. Co-incidentally the other week too.
ok Kahless, but what this tells me is that you are probably further to the Keira Knightley side than the Jayne Mansfield in terms of cuppage. I did order online once - didn't fit in the right places. No, I just have to go through this every two or three years.
I'm not sure I can add any meaningful comments to the specifics of bra-fitting, or even the generics of bra-fitting.
I mean, perhaps I can, but I'm not sure.
I can identify with the appreciation of such a knowing assistant though.
The word ver = exerifix, which may just happen to shed some light on it all for me :)
my dear one - good to read you hear. miss you and can't wait to see you - don't know when that will be. but yes - life goes on. I am writing book 2 and you are braver than I. Don't think I could hack a bra fitting though sorely need one. afore I turn pendulum breasted!
much love and candle light xx
Trousers, well you could try: to add meaningful comments about the specifics, I mean. It obviously helps to draw on personal experience, but on the other hand, what is the imagination for if not to furnish us with what is necessary in such cases?
I think the knowing assistant was probably a devout monk in a previous incarnation. She had a spiritual vibe about her.
Ms North! I have been thinking about you, did you hear me? I'll be in touch again anon (as in soon).
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