MORE THAN A HANDFUL
Dear Diary,
Today I went bra shopping with my MIL Ru (dementia), joining the legions of other mother/daughter duo’s looking for proper support for that first time bra wearer. Ru always being one for fitting in with the rest of the group (gag me) is playing the role of the giddy thirteen year old pubescent to MY portrayal of the haggard, nerve frayed mother who squelches any thought of purchasing PASTIES that look similar to something I saw Madonna’s TWINS covered by in Truth of Dare. Oh. Shut up. I know you watched it.
Witnessing the delight in Ru’s face as she shouted “I want THIS one” while waving about some totally screaming hoochie leopard print 42 G cup underwire was ALMOST as good as seeing the newly sprouting “tween” next to her PRETENDING not to hear her mom shouting, “Yooo Hoo! Excuse me.. could you pleeeeeze fit my daughter with a training bra? There’s NOTHING to support— so just a simple strip of $10 cotton will do fine.” Heh. I could see the girl quiver with fear that one teensy complaint out of her could see her RIGHT BACK to being one of those pathetic wannabes forced to shove Kleenex in her undershirt for the next six years..until you SHE graduates High School.
“WHAT are you telling her Ru? You have SO worn a bra before. (eye roll) What’s that thing you wear on the outside of your sweater to be like Madonna. Huh? That’s a BRA.
“No it’s not. That’s my bikini.”
Pflug. OF COURSE IT IS. (smacking forehead) WHAT THE FRICK could I be thinking? I’m standing at the counter with granny surrounded by a vast assortment of lace demi cups, sleek racerback’s and silky underwires and listening to her falsify some tale of woe to the salesgirl, about how she wants to look more PROFESSIONAL (being that you do WHAT for a living granny?) and “lend more support to the surrounding breast tissue” which has begun (cough cough) to sag a BIT (snort) over the years causing mild to severe back problems such.. as hunching over (go ahead and say it..) LIKE my DIL.. “when I shuffle down the halls at MY place.”
All of the lovely above monologue.. brought to YOU by either MTV’s My Sweet Sixteen or Dr. 90210. Played ad nauseam (in place of Paint Peeling observation class 101) in most of the realllly GOOD dementia facilities like Happy Daze Assisted. You know.. because it’s been shown to be helpful in eliciting memories in residents.. that NEVER even happened. It so works.. because now my MIL thinks she’s getting a friggin BEWB JOB at NORDSTROM by..
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we have a Dr. Rey who works here. But, I would be glad to help you. Why don’t we go into the fitting room with THESE (230 assorted brassieres) and measure you to see what size you wear—ummmm.. now.”
As opposed to the bras we were wearing three years ago, which are now four sizes too small? Say. It. You know you want to.
“Wow. Granny. You went from a 36A to a 42B.. Achieving HUGE results without creams and enhancements. You know what THIS proves? That with the right fatty diet and lack of exercise.. we can ALL be HOOTERS girls. It’s gonna be so FUN getting old.”
What? Too much enthusiasm?
Those of you that don’t own any bewbies, thereby preventing any DIRECT experience in the bra-fitting arena.. will be shocked to know that you don’t just stick your hands over them and GUESSTIMATE the cup size. Some more strenuous tasks to achieve the perfect fit are needed. After measuring around the back area, the individual is asked to lean over and touch her toes. But what happens when the individual.. we’ll call her Ru.. explains clearly that she ALREADY haddddd her exercise class? Why should she do it again? Do you have a water and snack for her? By the eighth.. “Lean over, touch your toes, and shove them in the cups for me please”, my MIL was ready to be done. Happy—beyond measure, with her new (steel reinforced concrete grade beam inserts for maximum support) WONDER bra, that made her look like that woman she saw on a calendar..
Let’s give it a second and see if there’s MORE to the sentence shall we?
“In the staff locker room that I wandered into..”
and..
her name said.. May.
Oh my gosh! There are MEN in here? giggle giggle.
The sound of a deep male voice pulled Ru out of her dressing room faster then I ever thought possible. Booming from the NORDSTROM PA system we hear the baritone uttering’s for Jim..our trusty Men’s Shoes sales associate being asked ever so politely to return to MENS shoes on the first floor. Jim.
Granny steers us out of the department and has us running (1.2 mph race pace) to the elevator to find the owner of the voice she just heard outside her fitting room door. Then out of nowhere.. and people, I’m telling YOU, I didn’t know WHAT to do. She starts loudly saying “TOOT TOOT. TOOT. TOOT” to this group of well groomed gentlemen in suits walking straight towards us FIFTY FEET off to the RIGHT. RU. Knock it off. What are you doing that for? Cut it out, they’re LOOKING at us. “TOOOOOOT”. Ruuuu!
Standing completely FROZEN with fear.. afraid to move and yet disturbingly amused was a group of half a dozen SUITS.. checking out the chick who was TOOTING at them and her pathetic wing man squishing herself down to appear.. invisible.
“Oh I’m sorry. I thought you were going to run us right over” offers up, my grinning like a Cheshire cat, MIL. Can I get your names?
Why? So you can fix them up with some of your FRIENDS? Don’t do it boys. Run. Scram!
Ru’s looking at them with her sweet gummy smile, batting her eyes wildly. Then turns and walks away with her head and everything else held way up high.. glancing over her shoulder to see them staring after her in wonder. As was I.
Off to find the Jim.
-A
Copyright © 2009 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.
That is magical!…The giggles of a child I do have! I love the pink bras hanging in the dressing room..toppers!
thank you
Holy Jebus. There is sainthood waiting for you when you die, you know that, right?
Although, I have to say that I would have LOVED to tag along on this particular errand.
Erica, There would have been NOTHING I would have enjoyed more then your company. Ga. There will be other times..PROMISE;)