In which I’m finally ready to move on

16 Mar

I went out Saturday to look for something to wear to Chuck’s sister’s wedding.  Well, at least I told myself I was going out to look for something to wear to Chuck’s sister’s wedding.  I was really on a mission to find something else—a secret mission.  I had to keep it a secret from even myself because heaven knows if I actually set out fully admitting to myself and the world that this was the particular thing I was looking for, I would never find it.  Never ever.  Ever.  Laws of the universe!

So I casually looked around at the skirts and dresses, even picked out a top and this really cute cropped sweater off the clearance rack to try on.  On my way to the dressing rooms, I just happened to find myself in the lingerie department.  “What are these doing here?” I said innocently to myself in my mind.  Then I casually and nonchalantly (you always have to do these things casually and nonchalantly so as not to tip yourself off) browsed the racks.  I had just two things in the back of my mind—the very back, so as not to arouse my (or the universe’s) suspicion:  it had to be wireless (I’ve never understood the point of a wire in an A cup bra.  Seriously.  Pointless.  In so many ways.) and it had to be lightly padded (An A cup might be a slightly generous description, but I’m not in the market for prosthetics either.   I have no delusions of Barbiedom, but I’d rather not go totally Skipper either.  I like to think of myself as more of a Midge.  With cuter hair.)

I found four possibilities, and took them with my top and sweater to the dressing room.  I tried on the top first.  It was pretty dang cute, I thought.  Although, looking in the mirror, it didn’t take me long to realize I was in one of those stores.  One of those stores with one of those dressing rooms with one of those mirrors that make you wish everyone was required by law to wear corrective lenses of the same prescription as that mirror because good frick you look good in that mirror.  Gooood Real good.  Then I tried on the sweater.  It had real possibilities as well.  And then I tried on the other things, real casual and nonchalant like.  I put the first one on and almost immediately rejected it.  It was a little snug and was offering little support to the ladies—emotional or otherwise.  I was sure I had been thwarted again.  Obviously, I hadn’t been casual and nonchalant enough.  I had caught on to my little plan.  The jig was up!  I was ready to abort the mission when I thought, “What the hey.  All hope is gone.  I have nothing to lose now.”  So I tried on the next one.  It felt pretty good.  Pretty darn good.  And the ladies were feeling a little, dare I say it, perkier?  I turned to the side, and I had a subtle yet discernable silhouette!  I tried it on with the shirt I was wearing that day.  Still looking good.  Then I tried it on with the new top.  Hey, not bad.  Then came the real test.  I poked it.  With my pokiest pokey finger.  And frick-on-a-stick-a-dinkly-do!  What do you know?!  It didn’t even leave a dent!

Riding on that high, I threw all caution to the wind and tried on the other two with similar fricktastic results.  I left that store with a trio of new pallies, my friends!  My new BFFs.  Another checkmark for the list.  A big, fat, fully and fantastically supported checkmark! 

As I retired for the evening Saturday night, I wondered what I should do with my old pal.  After five years (at least) of being that close and depending on her so much, I couldn’t just discard her like yesterday’s empty Cheetos bag.  She deserves a farewell far better than that.  I considered the ultimate gesture of respect:




But I’ve never really been one for bra-burning.  Then I thought about other beloved companions that our family has lost.  A ceremonial flush didn’t seem wise, but perhaps I could find a nice shoebox and a peaceful spot in the backyard.  Maybe a small marker with a thoughtful epitaph?*

For now, I think I’ve decided I’m not quite ready to say goodbye.  Sure, with my track record and the three new purchases, it would seem I won’t be in the market for a new companion until sometime around the birth of my third grandchild.  But if I’ve learned anything in the thirty-five years of my existence, it’s that life is wholly unpredictable.  Sometimes even the best of friends let us down.  Sometimes relationships end unexpectedly.  And let’s face it, we never know how much time any of us really has.  Yes, for now, I hope she’ll find some comfort in having been safely tucked away in the bottom of my drawer.  Perhaps someday I’ll have reason to discover she has a little life in her yet.**


*And now, a little contest: write an epitaph for my longtime faithful companion.  She who makes me LOL hardest, wins a prize.

**Yeah, I know this totally doesn’t fit, but I just really love this song.  Maybe this one would be more appropriate.


27 Responses to “In which I’m finally ready to move on”

  1. cheryl March 16, 2009 at 11:01 am #

    It is with deepest regret that we announce the death of Bythelbs’ bra, known to those who loved her as OTiS BaHa (Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder).

    Otis was born in a sweatshop in central Malaysia. After her birth, she was shipped off to the USA to be sold into slavery on the blackmarket. Bythelbs, not realizing she was involved in such a ring of deception, found Otis, and realized she must have her. It was love! And after years of In-Bra-Fertility, Bythelbs was so excited to have one of her own. Besides, the first touch illicited such joy, they knew they were destined to be together!

    Unlike most adoptions (or slave purchases), Bythelbs found herself receiving all the support from Otis. There was nothing Otis couldn’t do to help Bythelbs and both of her ladies (members of the “family” who were often “cold” and “loose” and “embarrassed by their nakedness”). Otis was an answer to all their prayers! Even Chuck was excited. So much joy! Joy! Joy!

    Unfortunately, soon Otis displayed symptoms of Bra-itis –it started slowly at first. There were slight tears, here and there. Occasionally there would be outbursts of anger, and sometimes she would pull away from the ladies. Pretty soon, Bythelbs realized she was dying. Even Chuck begin to notice, and we won’t even talk about how devestated the ladies were…

    Eventually, Otis had become the talk of the town. Everybody knew that she was struggling to maintain even a sense of dignity (not to mention how she sagged and sagged). And so, with a heavy, heavy heart, she begged Bythelbs to find another Otis. Someone who could take care of the family after she was gone. But bythelbs wouldn’t do it –at least not yet. Faithful to the end, she refused to replace Otis until there was no hope left.

    And so, Otis died. But not without leaving her mark upon the world. Luckily, she is survived by the ladies, Bythelbs, Chuck, and some worn out shirts, who will always remember her fondly, and love how she completely changed their private –and public –lives forever.

    Funeral services will be held on Friday at the local Garbage Dump. Refreshments will be served afterwards (but sorry, no glimpses will be made of Otis’ replacement. The family is still denying they replaced her so fast, the crazies…).

    *Yeah, it sucks. But it’s all I got!*

  2. bythelbs March 16, 2009 at 11:07 am #

    Wow, Cheryl. Always going the extra mile—I say epitaph and you give me an obituary! You’re awesome.

  3. Susan M March 16, 2009 at 11:24 am #

    You are so funny. Sorry, no epitaph ideas here.

  4. tawnya March 16, 2009 at 11:34 am #

    Oh, man. That’s funny. Well, funny in the way that “holy crap, that’s a little too close to reality for me” is funny…

  5. foofer March 16, 2009 at 12:01 pm #

    I think I need to warn Merkin not to read this one. Although, I’m sure as soon as he figured out the subject, he’d stop and run away screaming. Husbands are so funny.

    cheryl — “boulder”? Have you met bythelbs?

  6. cheryl March 16, 2009 at 12:08 pm #

    I decided to go the extra mile. Either that or I mixed up “epitaph” with “obituary” which is totally what I did…crap! I knew I was putting to much effort into it… 😉

    I typed –but then delted– Pepple Holder, but then I thought I shouldn’t insult the author of the blog. Especially since mine aren’t much greater…!

  7. madhousewife March 16, 2009 at 12:10 pm #

    Cheryl’s Otis Obit made me LOL, in kind of a creepy way. Way to go, Cheryl!

    Glad you found some new friends to share the rest of your life with. Your shopping story is hilarious.

  8. bythelbs March 16, 2009 at 12:17 pm #

    Susan—Oh well. As long as you’re amused.

    Tawnya—Too close to MY reality or YOUR reality?

    foofer—Sometimes the truth hurts. Harumph!

    Cheryl—I don’t know what a “pepple” is, but I’m pretty sure I should be harumphing!

    Mad—The rest of my life…if only.

    And I’m about ready to rescind my contest offer. Pepple. Puh.

  9. Janelle March 16, 2009 at 12:35 pm #

    Here lies

    Tit and Tat

    Breasts’ friends forever.

    Dec 15, 2004 – March 13, 2009

  10. Julie March 16, 2009 at 12:38 pm #

    “She done me good…till she didn’t”

    What’s a “pepple?”

  11. bythelbs March 16, 2009 at 12:46 pm #

    Janelle—Now we’re talkin’! Awesome.

    Julie—Good one! And yeah, that’s what I’d like to know.

  12. tawnya March 16, 2009 at 1:26 pm #

    Oh, my life. Definitely my life.

  13. cheryl March 16, 2009 at 3:05 pm #

    I’m an idiot. As if I wasn’t already being crazy enough.

    I meant “PEBBLE”


  14. bythelbs March 16, 2009 at 3:15 pm #

    You’re not an idiot, Cheryl. And, of course, we all knew what you meant. We just like giving you a hard time. 😀

  15. bythelbs March 16, 2009 at 3:17 pm #

    Well, Tawnya, at least you can take comfort in knowing you’re not alone. Or not.

  16. Alison Wonderland March 16, 2009 at 4:11 pm #

    It’s a bra ladies. I say good riddance.

  17. bythelbs March 16, 2009 at 4:51 pm #

    Alison, are you, like, dead inside? Who did this to you?

  18. Mother of the Wild Boys March 16, 2009 at 7:04 pm #

    My ladies kept shady,
    All gents were amused,
    To my body, you almost were fused.

    Goodbye, dear friend.


  19. boquinha March 16, 2009 at 7:09 pm #

    Here lies a damn bra. May the inventor of this torture device for women burn in eternal torment. Amen.

  20. cheryl March 16, 2009 at 8:31 pm #

    The thing is, I realized that AFTER I left the comment, and I even thought of a great definition of Pepples! (besides the Flinstones character)

    But, alas, it was too late –my brain has seriously slowed significantly.

    More sighing.

    (and LOVING Mother’s epitaph!)

  21. flip flop mama March 16, 2009 at 8:34 pm #

    Boquinha, Classic! I am dying laughing!

    bythelbs, I’m glad you finally found some good support for the ladies!

  22. foofer March 16, 2009 at 9:27 pm #

    I thought “pepples” came from combining the words “pebbles” and “nipples”. (Can I say that here? Oh well.)

    I vote for boquinha’s epitaph. Amen.

  23. cheryl March 17, 2009 at 7:58 am #

    Foofer is so right. That’s exactly what I was thinking (except I wasn’t thinking, so I’m stealing her idea).

    And I just can’t get on board with boquina’s epitaph because after birthing lots of kids, the ladies would hang to my knees. I need me some support!

  24. bythelbs March 17, 2009 at 9:23 am #

    Mother—Fused is right! LOL!

    Boquinha—Amen, indeed. Good one!

    Cheryl—Isn’t the Flintstones character PeBBles?

    Flip—Thank you. I’m sure they’re glad too.

    Foofer—Sure you can say “nipples”. Heaven knows what kind of WST hits I’m going to get now.

  25. madhousewife March 17, 2009 at 1:10 pm #

    I guarantee you’ll be getting searches for “pepples” in no time at all.

  26. boquinha March 18, 2009 at 1:12 pm #

    My little ladies got a mention on my Idol recap of all places.

  27. bythelbs March 18, 2009 at 1:17 pm #

    Ooh, checking it out now, Boquinha! I’m going to guess this might be a Megan reference? Let’s see…

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