My day started out fairly relaxed. In fact I found myself sitting in bed, alone, reading my kindle this morning, before the kids got up. Twiggy was out rock climbing (I know right?!). Anyway I eased in to the day which was quite lovely and completely unusual. Normally there”s much rushing around and I say the same phrases “get dressed”, “eat your breakfast”, “stop fighting with each other”, “turn down the radio”, “come here and get hair brushed” over and over and over.
There”s always a moment when the school run is complete that I hang my head, take a deep breath and say “thank fuck that”s over with”. Then I drink a big coffee (well decaf for me) and stare into space for about 20 minutes, trying to coax the “before kids” me out of her shell again. She likes to sleep in.
So, the day went well. It was a beautiful sunshiny day. I thought I”d get organised and get Xmas t-shirts for the kids” school concerts. One kid had to have a “bright” t-shirt, the other one a “light t-shirt”. Turns out, after I got them, that one actually had to have a “bright, not white” t-shirt and the other one “a bright, but not too bright because the teacher doesn”t want any one kid standing out from the others” t-shirt. Fuck me.
So, I had to do two runs to Target and rummage through t-shirts yet again. While I was there I thought I”d face the unavoidable – I”d pick up a new sports bra. I figured that since both the ones I have are broken (by broken I mean they have underwire pocking out, thus potentially about to stab me in the chest if I exercised too much) that I should get a new one.
Seriously, how many freaking bras are there in this world? And why are so many of them hot pink? I stood there for ages and finally settled on what I thought was a cool one. Yay. I was on fire. Ticking off “to-dos” on my list like a machine. I even picked up a few pairs of black, big lady knickers for myself and then tried to hide them under my lurid bra.
The shop assistant asked me if I”d like a bag at the counter and then quickly took back her question when she saw the knickers. “Imagine if you dropped a pair in the car park,” she giggled. “At least I”d be able find them easily enough,” I replied.
I jumped in the car, drove home and quickly waited for everyone in my house to leave my bedroom – why do we all need to hang out in a pack? And then I got my cool new bra out. It was then I noticed it was called a razorback bra, yet it also had clasps at the back, like a normal casino online bra.
What? Huh? How do I get this on? I popped it over my head and slipped my arms through the arm holes. And then tried to pull it down, but it was all bunched up around the back and my arms were stuck sticking up in the air. Shit, I thought to myself. I am stuck in my bra.
Oh shit, shit , shit – I am seriously stuck with my arms in the air and a hot pink bra wrapped around my back and neck. I pulled and pulled and each time it got in places it shouldn”t and I started to contemplate cutting it off me. Or getting the Jaws of Life.
Trust me to get stuck in my bra. I”m pretty sure only I could get trapped in a piece of lingerie. How was I going to explain this to my family? Arms in the air, boobs flopping about and the hot pink clashing with my red panting face. HELP ME I”M TRAPPED IN MY RAZORBACK BRA. SEND THE FIREMEN, preferably hot ones.
Despite the notion of a group of hunky fireman cutting me out of my bra, I gave it one last shot and this time managed to wriggle myself free. I”m just hoping there were no hidden cameras in my bedroom. I”d hate to turn up on the latest episode of When Bras Attack.
The moral of the story is never buy a new bra, just let the old one stab you repeatedly in the boob. It”s just easier that way.
Hope you”ve had a fab Tuesday. Or should I call it Boobsday.