I seriously racked up some good husband points (GHPs) tonight.
Stephanie needed to bolster her supply of brassieres. By bolster, I mean replace the one left that was about ready to die. You see, like all sane women, my sweetheart hates bra shopping. The problem is you actually have to go to Kohl’s or some other such place and enter it, walk through a maze of bras (I didn’t know there were that many breasts in the Universe) and pick out ones that look like they might actually fit human females.
I was a good soldier, helping her find sizes (that information is classified. I am already in deep doo-doo for even writing this). I endured the furtive glances of women who looked at me like I had crossed a DMZ. “This is a woman’s world. Go away. Shoo!” What was I doing in the bra section at Kohls? I mean, they weren’t hanging around in the jock strap section. That’s because the jock strap section is one end cap. Three sizes, one style. White. I am not exaggerating when I say there are acres of bras.
Weird Fact One: least half of the bras looked like something that someone somewhere thought someone would think looks good. These were all 75% off. Bras with leopard skin print with a frill of pink lace. Black Watch tartan bras. Ginham bras for the Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm look. Nude bras (what’s the point?). Notice to designers: animal prints are so 1970. I think the last animal print bra I saw was on Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate.
Weird Fact Two: There has been significant drift in the bra cup size world. What used to be no longer is. Just like in grad school where every gets an A, apparently A is now B, B is now C, C is now D, and D is now something I don’t need to know about. I did see one 40 EE. In camo. I’ve slept in tents that were smaller.
It only took an hour, and we’re done for another 12 to 18 months. Mission accomplished. Someday someone will make bra shopping painless, charge $75 each and clean up.