The Return of the Brassiere

No, Dear Reader, I have not given up the foundation fight. A while ago, I acquired an ill-fitting boulder holder and a pair of "trousers" [I use the term only loosely; they fit like nothing I've ever seen before] from JC Penney catalogue. I got really busy and didn't take back the items for a long time. That's because I'd rather have impacted wisdom teeth yanked out of my head than go to a mall. But last weekend I remembered I really had to do it. Honey needed me to pick him up from the car dealer where he was having maintenance done, so I took Tyke with me and got Honey. Tyke wanted to ride back home with me, but I explained that I needed to take A BRA back to JC Penney for an exchange. The Tyke does not like going to JC Penney, because there's a huge ladies' lingerie department. He refuses to look at it at all. In fact, he routinely covers up his eyes with one hand and makes me lead him past and tell him when it's over.

So I traded off Tyke and headed off to the mall. When I got to the catalogue desk, I noticed that the clerk was a guy. Interesting. He immediately started with the trousers and smoothly took care of returning them and crediting my account. Then he got to the other one, and balked, just about like Tyke. I was feeling feisty and a little annoyed by the stupidity of the boy/bra animosity, so decided to play with the clerk a little. It went like this:

Clerk: And, uh . . . this item?

Me [loudly]: The BRA. I want to return this BRA, yes!

Clerk [looking down at his feet, not at the bra at all]: And, what was wrong with this? It was . . . TOO LARGE?

{I had given him the exchange sheet with all the instructions clearly printed in the little boxes and there was no excuse for him to not understand. But in addition to the lingerie sensitivity, he was apparently challenged by not being a reader, either.}

Me [laughing at the cheek of this person, "sizing up" my boob-estate]: No, no, no! It was . . . too small! I need to exchange it for the next size up [loudly announcing the size up I want].

Clerk [looking at the floor again, then going to the computer and sneaking a peek at the screen] Uh, uh, there is no size up. This size [not announcing it, and heaven forbid not pointing at the item in question] is the last one.

Me [loudly]: You mean, they don't make a [next size up]?

Clerk: Uh, that's what the system says.

Me: Okay. Just return it without an exchange, then.

[Clerk fumbles with the return paperwork with surreal slowness. It seems as though the world is turning at a remarkably reduced rate.]

He hands me a slip of receipt paper showing the credit. But it seems only to credit the trousers, not the BRA.

Me: 'Scuse me, did this transaction credit the wee, nude-colored BRA, as well?

Clerk [looking down]: Yes, it did.

Me: Thank you.

Then I went on into the Forbidden Zone (the vast and terrifying lingerie department), where they had a SALE ON. And I found out it was indeed true that the Lily of France bra was not available in any color in the size I really wanted it in. But that was fine, because there were many other brands, and some of them were 2 for $24, and what joy I experienced picking things out and knowing that they would fit me.

And then I even knocked myself out and bought a support cami in powder blue and a couple of bras that had those formerly inscrutable clear straps. I could do this, you see, because after much subtle evaluation of what people are wearing these days (vs. what I have been wearing, in my hermit-cave-living, non-magazine-noticing, non-tv-watching, utter fashion-lack-of-awareness) I have finally learned how women wear these newfangled tops with great plunging necklines and other anomalies. They simply have the right underwear!

It's a great revelation to me. Honestly. I feel as if I have been born into a new era.

Let me say it again, really loudly in front of everybody and the whole darned internets: BRA!!!