Tuesday, 26 April 2016

My first bra

I'm having problems with photo-heavy blog posts at the moment, but that is my crap IPS's fault, not yours. I should pay the extra for optic fibre. Having said that, the someone has just called on the landline, and I seem to be still connected to broadband, which makes a nice change.

Yael has said that everything looks so perfect here in Blogland. Not on my site, it doesn't!

Cro's Wizzy is in full bloom, and - as far as I know - cakes are still being baked in Mise's household and her daughters are unhurriedly passing through their pink phases as if there was no such thing as a strike in the NHS. If you insist on having a multiple pile-up style car-crash today, make sure it isn't in the U.K.

Today would be even nicer if it were not so bloody cold. It's almost freezing here right now, and I am hoping that my lavish window-box is not going to be nipped by a hard frost.

A year ago - for the three consecutive years - we had a Spring so hot that the grass turned yellow before it was properly green, then there followed three cold, wet Summers during which the walls turned green. So I am hoping that this cold period will herald a perfect Summer for a change. I am also hoping that I never begin a sentence with the word 'so', if ever I am interviewed on radio or television. (Note the seamless way I managed to get in a little curmudgeonly rant there.)

Today sees the culmination of the Hillsborough Disaster inquest in which over 90 football supporters were crushed or asphyxiated after being herded into a fenced-off section of the stands by the police, to stop them from invading the pitch. The jurors on that case have been deliberating for two years - long enough to destroy their careers - but it had to be done.

If ever a blog post looks wistfully perfect, it is often when the past is revisited with bittersweet memories of youth, and Rachel's post about buying her first bra and suspenders (Suspenders?! At her age? Now OR then?!) at The British Home Stores (in LSD - pounds, shillings and pence), is such a post.

Being a boy, I did not have to go through the humiliating experience of choosing my first bra, with or without my mother's help. I didn't start sprouting tits until I hit late middle-age, and by that time nobody cared about my appearance.

I once - and ONCE only - chose some sexy underwear for my then girlfriend, but only because she asked me to. She refused to go to the department store with me, preferring the notion of the whole thing being my idea and imagining that I might get some sort of kick out of the experience. Her previous birthday present from me had been an electric food mixer, which didn't go down too well.

So I walked into the shop (here I go again, beginning a sentence with 'so') and made my way up to the lingerie department of the old-fashioned 'Jolly's' store here in Bath, feeling not a little nervous.

The first thing I learnt was that the less there is of ladies underwear, the more expensive it is. The smaller the garment, the higher the price. How does that work?

A beautiful young woman came out of the shadows (the other thing I learnt was that lighting in these departments is always low and flattering - like a bedroom) and asked me if I needed her assistance. I admitted that I did.

I tried to describe the sort of bra and knickers combo which I was looking for - for my GIRLFRIEND - without sounding like a complete pervert, but she was well used to this situation and tried to put me at my ease.

"What is her bra size?" she asked with a charming smile. I had no idea, and told her so. I had fallen at the first hurdle.

"Ok, no problem," she took one step toward me and pushed her ample bosom roughly in my direction, "Is she anything like my size?"

For the first time in my life, a beautiful young women who I did not know was verbally inviting me to stare at her tits. So I did (oh no, I've done it again).

I was very tempted to say that the only way I could compare the size of her breasts to my girlfriend's would be to close my eyes and physically fondle them for a minute or two, using both hands, but I didn't have the courage.

"Yes," I admitted, "They are pretty much identical."

So that was it (argh! yet again!). I left the shop about £150 lighter, and about 6 ounces heavier.


31 comments:

  1. I can almost see you drooling

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    1. I don't drool and never have. I'm not a bulldog.

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    2. I don't even drool over food, let alone women. I sometimes think that you have absolutely no idea about others.

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  2. Replies
    1. I'm going to have to get my head back in that space and think about it.

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  3. Did she like the little things you purchased?..and in my experience, men don't really care if you have your sexiest/best/2nd best/god don't let me be run over today pants on.....it's what's in them they like....my recent visit re a new bra has had a marvellous effect on me..very comfortable now as apparently I was wearing the wrong size.....

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    1. No such thing as the wrong size. No such thing as the wrong tits, either.

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  4. An old boyfriend of mine once gave me a food mixer for my birthday -- I was 20. It was a bit disappointing, but he was so pleased with himself that I managed not to let it show. The thing was he had started off the present giving with a mop, which he intended as a joke present, expecting that I would tell him off, which I didn't. Christmas was 6 months later and by that time I had taught him a lot about buying presents for me!

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    1. Oh God - I feel awful all over again.

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  5. Replies
    1. Yes, but it's supposed to be, isn't it?

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  6. I meant to say that my garden looks perfect only in my blog's pictures. you are wright about Rachel's perfect posts.

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  7. You don't need photos, i wish i could write like you do.

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    1. Aw, Yael. You say the nicest things, but - as people keep saying - you write wonderfully. I enjoy your posts so much. They are a window on another place to me, without the shit that is normally thrown through windows.

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  8. I enjoyed this, Tom. No matter the problems you have, you always seem to face them with a great sense of humour; that is how all your posts get through to me.
    Greeting Maria x

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    1. I try - through gritted teeth, or what teeth I have left to grit.

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  9. So - did she like the underwear ...and appreciate all you'd gone through to buy it for her?

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  10. I'm quite the opposite, it horrified me when my ex-to-be purchased underthings for me; my favourite gift, other than books, was a gift card which I promptly spent on kitchen equipment.

    I have a peasant's soul.

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    1. I should have bought you the blender. We cannot choose our relatives, and I have come to believe that we don't have much of a choice in our spouses either. That's the way it feels, anyway.

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  11. I used 'so' all the time and I have been trying to curb that. But I doubt it will stick.
    But back to bras - size does matter - and being fitted correctly is a wondrous thing indeed! reddit has a wonderful thread about this.

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    1. I'll try to remember all that for my next incarnation, Carol. I've been trying to forget it for all of this one.

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  12. Very amusing to read this report of your early shopping adventure. Way back when, I was given such items, and I assure you, the size was almost always wrong. No matter. (Isn't that S. Beckett?)

    I've also been on the other side of the shop counter and was always very happy to help any gentleman make a selection (not lingerie,) for any special lady in his life.

    Once again, thanks for the Peregrine link.

    Best wishes.

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    1. It wasn't that long ago - relatively. I was about 38 years old, I think.

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  13. It's that time of year when all the shops are selling espadrilles. Lady M keeps telling me her shoe size; do you think she's hinting at something? Thank goodness there's not a bra season.

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    1. Espadrilles are so cheap, no matter the size. I haven't seen anyone wearing them here for years.

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  14. My next post will now be very photo-heavy. I am such an old bastard.

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