August 9, 2006

The Breast Wars: Part II– I Suffer Injury And Humiliation

My box of lingerie from BareNecessities.com was waiting for me when we returned from the beach, but I was too high to care. The day before it had rained, so the Glamores headed to Rockit Lanes for some alternative recreation. At the last minute, we made the fateful decision to rollerblade instead of bowl. I raced against Drew, fell, and landed on my tailbone and wrist. I was in a world of hurt.

After hours at the hospital, and admonitions from a Dr. Legg to discontinue my rollerskating career, I was discharged with a wrist fractured in two places. I also had a bruise the size of Idaho on my ass, an arm splint, and some Lortab so strong I couldn’t stand up. Apparently we packed up and drove home as scheduled the next day, although I don’t remember that part.

When I came to, my left arm was on fire and I was face-to-face with a huge box of bras. I peered inside and flinched as I moved my left hand. Inside the box was a colossal pile of brassieres, each individually wrapped in a sealed baggie. I picked one up and was unable to open it one-handed. I tried pulling on the bag with my injured hand, but I couldn’t move the fingers on my left hand at all without suffering an agonizing spasm. I realized that if I was going to try the bras on and return the non-fitting ones in a timely manner, I would have to let Bill help me.

Bill approached the task with his usual good humor, believing, as all guys must, that helping your partner put on and take off a boatload of bras is bound to be enormous fun.

He picked up the first one from the stack and read the tag.

“This is the Le Mystere Tisha T-Shirt Bra,” he announced, handing it to me. I gingerly put my arms through it, then turned my back to him.

“Why are you facing me that way?” he asked. “I can’t tell anything about that contraption from the back.”

“Honey, I need you to fasten it in the back, and I may even need you to tighten the straps,” I said patiently. “After it’s on properly, then we decide if it fits.”

He fumbled around with the back of the bra.

“Damnation,” he mumbled. “No one ever told me I had to learn how to put these back on. All those years of practicing to take them off, and here I am learning to put them on.”

He fastened it, and I winced.

“Not so tight!” I yelled.

He hurriedly adjusted the back, then stepped back.

“Honey, the straps are drooping almost to my ankles,” I pointed out. “You slide that clippy thing up until the strap fits over my shoulders without sagging or cutting off my circulation.”

He did as instructed and then I turned around and faced him.

Maybe this would be a good time to insert a control picture of myself so you can appreciate what we saw.

This is what I look like when I am wearing a brown camisole and light blue shorts. Note the place where my breasts would be, if I had any.

Here I am wearing the Tisha T-Shirt Bra.

“Honey, that makes it looks like you have a handful up there,” Bill said happily.

“It’s too big,” I announced, giving it the push test. “See?”

I pushed lightly on the cup until the fabric of the bra touched my actual torso.

The empty space in the bra was apparent. Bill’s face fell, but only for a moment.

“All right, then, let’s move on,” he said jovially. He handed me another bra. “How about the Chantelle Alhambra Soft Cup Bra?” He helped me put it on.

“I seem to remember that the Alhambra is a Spanish castle,” he mused, as he fastened the bra and adjusted the straps. “This bra doesn’t look Spanish at all.” I turned around and faced him.

“Oh,” he said.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

“Balls,” I muttered.

Just then Finn burst in the room, oblivious to the closed door. He stopped short when he saw me.

“Mom, is that bra supposed to be so wrinkly?” he asked.

“No, it’s not,” I said. “It’s made for women with larger breasts. If you put something bigger in it, the bra would be filled up, not all foldy.”

“Yeah, I would think if you wore it that way it would look like you had something weird under your clothes,” Finn said. “Hey, I have an idea!” He ran from the room and returned a moment later, holding something.

“Why don’t you see what happens if you put this in one side? I bet you wouldn’t have any wrinkles then.”

I took the small turnip he handed me and looked at it in disbelief.

“Go on, honey,” Bill said. “None of us like turnips anyway.”

Well, they were right. The turnip filled up the Alhambra in a way I never could.

“I’m going to get my brothers and see what else we have in the kitchen!” Finn yelled, hurrying off excitedly.

“Honey, this isn’t a freak show,” I told Bill.

“Aw, let’s have a little fun with it,” he answered. “You put something on under that puckered-up titty-tamer for a little modesty, and we’ll fill up that coconut-sling with all kinds of things.”

“Coconut sling?” I asked.

“Okay, lima bean-sling. Now put something on.” He pinched my butt too close to my bruised tailbone and I slapped him.

So that’s how we ended up with all the boys on the bed laughing while I performed a fruity bra fashion show.

The kiwi looked good.

And it was a good fit, though maybe a little oblong.

I had high hopes for the Le Mystere Nikita Bra, both because of its elegant name, and because of its decorative straps, which formed a lovely criss-cross pattern.

Unfortunately, it turned out that I was a tomatillo and an avocado short of filling up that bra.

On the other hand, I had a really good start to an excellent guacamole.

In the end, I was unlucky with the bras. Not a single bra fit. However, the Glamore family had some cheap entertainment at my expense. It was much more enjoyable than rollerblading.

I decided the show was over when Porter asked, “Mom, why is your nipple as big as a meatball?” Finn and Drew were soon sent to bed as well.

Round I of the Breast Wars is over. I will let you know should I choose to fight again.