A Walk Down Bra Memory Lane

One of the great things about Luke is his ability to unearth hidden treasures from closets. He is the perfect size for this—a little taller than gnome, but shorter than pygmy.

Recently, he’s discovered my lingerie stash that I house in a small set of drawers in the closet.

One morning, as I was trying to pick out an outfit for the day—no easy task given the number of clothes that have mysterious stains—he passed me a huge, floppy expanse of whiteness.

It took me a minute to realize what I was holding—at which point I screamed and dropped it like a hot potato.

Hideous!

It was a massive nursing bra. One that, today, I could only fill with the help of 6 pairs of tube socks. Flashback to springing leaks, “bullseye” nursing pads, back pain. I kicked it quickly under some mysteriously stained clothes on the floor.

The next one he passed to me was a thin wisp of a bra: a nude-colored, wireless, petite thing that, if I wore today, might get me arrested for indecent exposure. Something without interior scaffolding? Pass.

One after one, I was handed pieces of my undergarment history—reminded of the ups (Woot!) and downs (What the…?), expansion (Dude!) and shrinkage (Duuuuude!) of the last few years. 

After my drawer was emptied and Luke toddled off to find a full roll of toilet paper to unravel, I sat among my underthings, reminiscing about the glory days of boob-dom. Remember when they didn’t look like an abandoned house with the windows boarded up and no furniture? Remember when you could go braless and not look like those tribal women in National Geographic? No, not really.

Apparently my mind is going where my old boobs went.  Somewhere in a galaxy far, far away.