As I was going through a few bags that I hadn't unpacked from prior shopping trips, I found a bra that I had forgotten I had bought! This reminded me of a favorite story starring Brie and my mother...
When I was young and just starting to “blossom”, that was mortifying enough. But when my mother wanted to be the overseer of my “foundation garments”, my mortification reached a whole new level!
Of course she had to go with me to buy the first one. I remember skulking around the racks and trying to look like I was by myself. However, that didn’t work when my mother pulled a little pink and white cotton flowered number off the rack and boomed, “I know this isn’t a real bra, but you don’t have much to put into one anyway so this should do for the time being.” How could such a big voice come out of such a tiny woman?
As time went by, it didn’t get much better. She always seemed to have final say on those types of purchases (probably because she had the money). I wanted the pretty, pastel bras that were worn by my friends: not the utilitarian “just get the job done” brassieres. “If you’re the only one seeing the bra,” my mother intoned, “then you don’t have to worry about what it looks like, as long as it’s clean.”
This would have been advice I could live with, if it really was just me seeing the bra. But that would leave me with my dignity intact. No, at any given moment when I was home, Marie would say, “Lift up your shirt and let me see your bra.”
As odd as this sounds, she only meant she wanted to check the straps to make sure they were adjusted properly. But hellooo! I didn’t want to show her the bra while I was wearing it! At least this was better than when we were out somewhere, and she would just yank on the back of my bra if the twins weren’t perky enough!
So this is what I had to go through until I was old enough to buy my own lingerie; although sometimes even now, as an adult, she’ll ask to see my bra. Especially if she thinks I’m looking particularly, ah, attentive that day! But I don't show it to her. After all, I am an adult!
I decided that when the time came with my girls, I wasn’t going to ask to see their foundation garments: I would just make sure they wore one! Kitty was easy-going and not picky about the kind she wore: she trusted mom to pick them out and adjust them for her. Ms. Thang Brie started out that way, but as time wore on she wanted department store/Vicki’s Secret $40 pieces of lace. As a single mom that was way too rich for my blood, but I knew who would jump at the chance to do this high-end shopping: my mother Marie. Not that I thought Brie needed undergarments that were that pricey, but they could be written off as an early birthday present. Plus, she had gained some weight which was totally straining the bras she currently owned!
The only flaw in my plan was that I’d have to drive them since neither of them drove! So on a Saturday afternoon, when I was cranky and would rather have been doing anything else, I took my mother and Brie to JC Penney for a couple of over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders. Marie said, “Rita, I know that this is a terrible inconvenience for you, and I wish I had a driver’s license but I don’t. Otherwise I never would have asked you.” She has the martyr routine down pat.
“It’s okay ma, as long as we make it quick.”
“We certainly don’t want to hold you up,” she huffed.
Oh, she was good! “You’re not, and I appreciate you getting Brie a couple of bras.”
“Can I have a skirt too Grammy?” came a voice from the peanut gallery in the back seat.
“Brie! What do I tell you about being greedy?” I snapped. “You could get a job and buy your own skirt.”
“I can’t find a job,” she pouted. “I just wanted a skirt because my others are…uh, worn out.”
“I don’t mind getting her a skirt too.”
“Fine!” I pulled into a parking space. “I’ll just wait in the car.”
“No, you can help us look,” Marie said. “You don’t need to sit out here by yourself and stew.”
This was exactly what I was going to do. I sighed dramatically at how I was being put upon and got out of the car; heading into the store behind the other two.
Things started to pick up for me when we reached the junior department, where Brie usually bought her clothes. My mother looked around dubiously, and then looked at her granddaughter. “Are you sure you can find something in this department?”
“Grandma, it’s where I always shop.”
I didn’t say a word, but I had a feeling that she was not going to be able to find anything. She had put on a few pounds lately, but I wasn’t going to burst her bubble.
She went from her wishful size to the biggest size, but nothing fit! “These skirts must run small,” she complained.
“I don’t think so,” Marie said, shaking her head. “You’re in the wrong department. Let’s go to the Women’s department.”
“Women’s!” Brie wailed. “Those clothes will be too big.”
My mother gave her a once-over. “No they won’t. Let’s go.”
I immediately perked up. This could be interesting! I followed them over to the Women’s department, where Brie picked up a skirt in a size 14. “Oh no,” my mother took it from her. “You need at least a 16, and maybe you’d better take the 18 into the dressing room for good measure.”
“Grandma!”
“March young lady!”
I snickered behind my hand as she stomped off to the dressing room, Marie close behind. “Which are you trying on first?” she asked.
“The 14! It’ll fit.”
But alas, it didn’t fit. “Well I knew that,” my mother said loudly, to be sure Brie heard her. “Maybe you should skip the 16 and go right for the 18.”
I knocked on the fitting room door. “Isn’t it fun shopping with Grandma?”
“Be quiet mother!” she hissed.
“What’s going on in there? Brie, does it fit?”
And much to Brie’s chagrin, she had to buy the size 18 skirt. She glumly came out of the fitting room. “Well since you found something big enough, we’ll take two,” Marie said. Brie groaned as we headed for the lingerie department.
While my mother and daughter combed the racks, I sat down and relaxed. “Rita! Help us find the right size. She’s your daughter.”
Ugh! “What size?”
Brie mentioned a size, and my mother raised her eyebrows. “Is that the size you’re wearing now? That won’t do at all; your breasts look like a stuffed sausage!”
There was that “outdoor” voice again! I almost choked trying not to laugh out loud.
“What does that mean?” Brie asked, mortified.
Marie walked up to her and pointed to her chest. “Your breasts are crammed into that little bra so it looks like one horizontal boob! We’ll get one a couple of cup sizes and a couple of inches bigger.”
I was snickering as I combed the racks. Now I was having a good time! I found a couple of brassieres that I thought would fit her and we sent her to the fitting room.
“Rita, how come you let that girl wear those too-small bras? She should have bought a bigger one a couple of months ago!”
“It’s not my fault. I asked her about them but she said she was comfortable.”
“Well that was obviously a lie. You need to pay more attention to your children.”
“Mom, she is twenty-one! I think she can handle her own boob issues!”
“Would you guys stop talking about me? The whole freakin’ store can hear you!” Brie said from the dressing room.
“How’s it coming? Do you need some help?” Marie stood up and marched over to the room. “Open the door so I can see how they fit.”
“Grandma!”
“Open!”
She dutifully did, and my mother adjusted the straps and turned her this way and that, poking and prodding while Brie wished the floor would open up and swallow either one of them!
Finally satisfied, Marie purchased three bras for her granddaughter, along with the two skirts. I was still laughing as I followed them to the car.
“What are you still grinning about?” my daughter asked.
“I bet you wish you had a job now, don’t you?”
