Bra
shopping with men
By
Janice Seagraves
Hi, my name is Janice Seagraves. I’m a
romance writer. I think sometimes my life is more interesting than it should
be.
The other day my daughter and I went bra
shopping with my husband and her boyfriend in tow. For the women reader, I’m
sure you’re very familiar with bra shopping.
Have you ever gone shopping with the man in your life?
Yeah, that’s an experience isn’t it?
My hubby usually vacates the area, fast.
He says, “I’ll shop for manly things like jockeys, while you’re occupied with feminine
stuff.” This time he did the usual and you should hear him peeling out, as his
shoes made black scuff marks on the tiles of J.C. Penny’s.
After raising an eyebrow at her father’s
quick exit, my daughter turns to me. “What can I get?”
I pointed out the sale sign. Buy one bra
and get the second one for half off. “Get two.”
My daughter found two bras.
“Try them on.”
She sighed. “But they the same ones I
got last time.”
“You still might have changed since
them. After all you did just lose weight,” I told her.
Daughter returned from the changing room,
only to put the bras back. “I got bigger.” She hung her head.
I stared at her a moment. My daughter is
the only woman I know who can simultaneously lose weight and get bigger boobs. How is that even possible?
“Then find the next size,” I said as I
continued the search for my bra size.
I glanced at daughter’s BF. He kept his
face impassive, but his eyes danced.
“I’m surprised you’re not doing
cartwheels right through the middle of this store,” I told him.
BF grinned. “Oh, I keep that sort of
thing to myself. But my inter pervert is doing cartwheel and flips on the
monkey bars.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” I shake my head. What is it with bra size and men?
I made my own selections and go to the
changing room. After struggling with my new shirt which I discovered too late
was hard to get off, I found that I had grabbed the wrong size bra. “What the
heck. What size am I?” I looked at the tag on my bra from home. Great, it's bigger.
Crap.
Redressing, I go back out and look for a
bigger bra.
My daughter finds the right size bra tries
it on and comes back, and I’m still looking.
“These fit. Can I have panties too?” she
asks.
“Sure, if there’s a sale.”
“There is.”
“Okay.” I keep looking.
My husband has bought his jockeys and
came strolling back, and I’m still looking.
I put back yet another bra I can’t wear.
By this time I’m at the end of the bra section and the end of my rope.
“This is so not fair. I find all kinds
of a little smaller and even a few just a little bit bigger, but not one single in my size,” I wail.
Yeah, I’m loud when I’m upset and I don’t care who knows it.
Right then a saleswoman shows up as if
she sprung out of the floor. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
While I’m telling her my problem,
loudly, my husband starts to smile.
The saleswoman looks me straight in the
eyes and asks, “Are you sure that’s your size. Have you tried a smaller size?”
I grit my teeth. “I just had on a smaller size my cup was running over like this.” I mimed my molded over breasts with
both hands. I glance to my hubby and my daughter’s BF. “Sorry guys. I didn’t
mean to be so graphic.”
“Oh, no problem at all.” My husband is
grinning from ear to ear and bounce on the balls of his feet.
My daughter tells him. “Dad, stop
smiling. It’s scary.”
My daughter’s BF whispers, “Your dad’s a
perverted.”
Meanwhile the saleslady asks me, “Have
you ever tried an extender?”
“Huh?” I stare at her like she had just
grown two heads. What good would that do?
“A lot of women wear an extender on their
bras. It really helps them,” she said as she plows on.
Hands on hips, I lean toward the smaller
woman. “Look, lady, if you haven’t noticed I’m a large woman. I need the right size bra, anything
smaller just won’t do.” Was the woman
even looking at the size of my tits?
The woman didn’t even blink at my
outburst. “But an extender would—”
I let out a dramatic sigh. God, I really hate pushy sales people.
“No, extender. It just wouldn’t work.”
My daughter reaches past me and hands me
a black bra. “Here’s one?”
“Well, hell. I was standing right next
to it.” In the space of a minute we found two more.
I looked one over. “Oh, this is a pretty
bra. And it’ll give me lots of support too.” You don’t always find good support
and prettiness in the same bra when you’re my size.
My husband is looking happier if that’s
possible. “Support is good.”
BF shakes his head. “Dirty old man.”
I go to the changing room and try on the
bra. It fits. It’s supportive and it’s pretty. I imagine in heaven angels are
rejoicing. Hallelujah.
And then my daughter thrusts a bra
through the door at me. “Look, I found another one.”
“Yay, now I get the sale’s rate. Buy one
second half off.” I dance a jig as the angels in heaven launch into another louder
chorus—Halle-lu-jah!
At the cash register, while I’m making
small talk with the cashier, my daughter’s BF saddles up to me and whispers in
my ear. “I hate to tell you this, but your husband is doing perverted things to
the bras.”
“What?” I jerk my head toward my husband.
His cheesy grin is still in place as he strolls down the center aisle. “What
did he do?”
“He felt up the bras. He told me that
you compliment the bra, ‘Silky’ and when your woman is in them you used both
hands, ‘Nice’”. BF mimes what my husband did.
“Oh, good grief. That man will be the
death of me yet.” Good thing I don’t get
embarrassed easy. My mother would have been mortified.
I paid for our things, and my daughter
picked up the bag. My husband joins us, and we head out.
As we pass a manikin that’s wearing a
bra and panty set that show half its white plastic ass, my husband hand whips
out, slapping it on the butt.
My mouth dropped open. “What did you
just do?”
“It was presenting.” He grinned back at
me. “What else was I supposed to do?”
“Uh, not hit the dummy on the ass would
have been my choice.”
BF says, “See he’s a big perverted.”
My daughter mutters, “Maybe you should
hit him, mom.”
“Wouldn’t do any good.” I shrug. “What
is it with men and bra shopping anyway?”
“It brings out the inter pervert,” BF
said. “That’s my theory anyway.”
“I think you might be right.” We follow
my smug husband back into wilds of the shopping mall.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Janice Seagraves grew up
in a small California town. Her home is a hundred year old haunted house (I’m
not kidding), where she lives with her husband and daughter, an overly
affectionate cats and a German Shepard puppy that can’t get the cat to play
with her.
The writing bug hit her
late at around twenty. However her art always drew her away from the characters
in her head. After being diagnosed with tendonitis she found doing artwork
painful, but she could still type and at last she turned her full attention to
writing.
Her first book, Windswept
Shores, is available through Pink Petal books.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Windswept Shores
by Janice Seagraves
Cover Contest Winner
erotic contemporary romance
novel (approx 50K)
price $4.95
Cover Art by Pink Petal Books with assistance from Winterheart Design
Cover Contest Winner
erotic contemporary romance
novel (approx 50K)
price $4.95
Cover Art by Pink Petal Books with assistance from Winterheart Design
BLURB:
The sole survivor of a plane crash, Megan is alone on a deserted island in the Bahamas until she finds a nearly-drowned man washed up on shore. Another survivor, this time from a boat wreck. With only meager survival skills between them, will they survive and can they find love?
The sole survivor of a plane crash, Megan is alone on a deserted island in the Bahamas until she finds a nearly-drowned man washed up on shore. Another survivor, this time from a boat wreck. With only meager survival skills between them, will they survive and can they find love?
~*~*~
