2001
| June 30, 2000 I have been trying to get to the mall for two weeks. I've been trying to cut out my dress for my date with Fabio about that long too. So on Thursday night, I ran away from home - leaving my younger son sprawled on the couch, sulking. He faces a biopsy - for a swollen lymph node that "doesn't feel right" - and numbness in his jaw. We think it is cat-scratch fever (yes - that is an illness). But there is a small chance that it is something far, far worse. I can't think like that. This is my baby, my heart. He may be getting ready to move away from home - but he is only moving 500 miles away and into my other house. I will know where he is. I will visit. Anything else, I cannot and will not handle. Not until I have to. So I ran to the mall. The sports bra I've been in since the surgery is ratty and gray. It used to be white. I wash it several times a week since it is what I wear to the gym. My son is my biggest nagger at the gym - makes me work up a sweat. I head for Macy's and the Warner Friday's Bra rack. I find one in white and one in beige. 38B. I wear it with an extender. They are soft to the touch and sport a sticker - "Touch Me". I had bought four bras when I had surgery. This model is the only one I like. I am pleased to find my size. I wanted a black one but no joy. I am also determined to hit the sales at the mall this weekend. I haven't shopped in awhile. My gatherer instincts are in full tilt. I head for Victoria's Secret. I need a strapless black bra for my date with Fabio on the 8th. One more week. Yikes. I decide to brave the scene and get measured - because I am not sure what size I am. Not in a real bra. I've been in the sports bra too long. It does tend to flatten you. There are three people working the counter. Two girls and a guy. I am not that liberated. I wait for a female and her trusty tape measure. I am a 38! Without an extender! (I am pleased - I am down from 44). I am also B-C (down from D-DD) and strapless bras should be worn tighter - so it doesn't fall down. She can't believe I had them reduced! I explain that when they are large, they travel. Mine were in the way of my belt. She shows me which strapless bra has a better line and I try it on. It does look good. And it fits! Another model does not. It leaves my chest lumpy. Like it has a mind of its own - there's you - and then there's the bra. I make the mistake of looking in the mirror - after being sick all day (my insides declare war on occasion), I felt lumpy and gray. I didn't need that reaffirmed. I am so pleased at the fit of the black (with lace no less) bra that I ignore the image in the mirror. I decide I want strapped bras in the same style - a slightly firm shaping that prevents the "headlights" under thin sweaters. That takes a bit of searching "in the back" but they find one beige and one white in my size. Great. Three new bras. And they do not make me look like Erin! That would be too much over the top! Or on it as the case may be. I do love sales. Then I decided to get new panties. Now that I am smaller, and because they are on sale, I get ones that match the bras. We (the sales girl and I) figure out what size I probably wear now. We guess "L". Because I like comfort - I can probably wear an "M". I actually wear a size "7" - have for years. (Except while I wore an 8 and size 2X. Let's not remember that.) I've never owned matching bras and panties! Except for a satin purple set I bought for Nashville '94 - Fabio of course. New experience. (And they fit just fine! And feel lovely!) See? There is a benefit to doing wild things! Like buying dinner with Fabio! I get several pairs of black panties. They are high cut. I avoid thongs. They were designed by a very sick mind. Especially since, while driving my son to the doctor, I made way for a Stanford student on a bike. In a jersey dress on a bike. With helmet. Talk about a panty line! She was in a bra and thong under that dress! Ladies! Look in the mirror! Sometimes a girdle and a slip are required! Jersey long dresses do not belong on bikes! I found myself looking at silk nightgowns. And guiltily remember that I have silk pajamas and robes stuffed into a drawer. Left over from my recuperation period. Why is it that women wear ratty night wear even when we own better? I frump around in a stained pullover thing from Target. Or an old nylon ripped and pinned-together nightgown that should have been retired years ago. And I do mean years! I plan to iron some of my nice things this week-end. I won't go to LA with less. While awaiting the cashier - I spot on a "leg" - thigh-high stockings - black with a wide lace top. Now, mind you, Fabio has never and will never see my underwear - but the idea of sexy thigh-top stockings is too powerful. I get a pair. Unfortunately I can only find almost-black in my size. It will do. I will check back. (When I got home I was instructed by Pepper to put them on, turn down the tops after they are where you want them, wet your leg, roll the rubber pack in place. The rubber and water act like glue - voila! Your thigh-tops stay on your thigh! Model's secret!) I am very pleased with myself. I will slit the dress high enough to play peek-aboo. Women in new underwear always feel better. Age is not a factor. I return to my son - still sprawled on the couch. He is a baby bird tonight. I must find food and deliver it to his "nest". He will go with me on Friday for the biopsy. I refuse to worry. In the morning (who slept?) I run around finding clothes as per usual and round up my new sports bra. I can wear it without an extender. This is good since I can't seem to find where I put the extenders I bought months ago. My son is lumbering out of bed into the shower - and I am already late for work. I hurry through the motions. Feeding animals. Checking water. Finding my shoes. This is also good since I find one that I had misplaced three weeks ago. I do remember to remove the sticker on the bra. "Touch Me". Don't need that at work. My son is now back in his room, his ear bandaged. He has had two Tylenol-codeine tablets. He has twitchy legs. He has had dinner. He has soda to sip. He had donuts this morning. Bad on purpose. He has stitches. He gets them out on Thursday. We should know by then. The doctor thinks it will be OK. Keep the positive thoughts. Tomorrow I have to go to the gym and make up for missing tonight. My son insists. He also wants to go to the movies, have a new computer game, and get Blockbuster movie rentals. And junk food. He plays this for all it is worth. I am putting his butt on the treadmill ASAP! I want him healthy! I have plans for his room. |
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