Or, Braless in Manhattan
I suddenly have a lot more empathy for Janet Jackson than I did before today. I have walked in her shoes (they pinched) before millions of New Yorkers instead of the Superbowl crowd, and endured the humiliation of my own wardrobe malfunction. Alas, it was not abetted by Justin Timberlake. It was, instead, the result of a number of perfectly ordinary circumstances:
8 days of rain + annual physical + cheap outlet lingerie = unfixably broken bra strap and a wet T-shirt
Where's the 8 days of rain come in? It's made everything and everybody damp, damp, damp. It's not so bad when you're out in it, but the moment you get inside, you realize that you are soaked, despite the raincoat and umbrella. The only thing dry on me today was my feet, thanks to a great pair of waterproof mocs. So when I disrobed for my physical, everything I folded up was wet or at least damp, including my underwear. Ack. When I started to get dressed again, everything stuck to me, including the cheap outlet bra. As I pulled the strap up over my shoulder, the little plastic ring holding it to the cup snapped (cheap outlet bra). Instant consternation and much cussing.
For some women, this is not really a problem. I'm not one of them. Even if I'd had a safety pin in my purse, I wouldn't trust it to keep the bra together without snapping open and fatally impaling me. And keeping people from noticing a pair of D-cups flapping around without a bra is impossible. In a wet, clingy T shirt, even underneath a raincoat, well, you get the picture, I'm sure. Thank goodness this happened in Chelsea, where the boys hardly noticed, and the girls are scarce. The cashier at Macy's, however, where I went to buy a new and better-constructed model, kindly pointed me to the fitting rooms once she'd cut the tags off. I guess it was pretty obvious why I wanted the tags off.
I'd been 20 years perkier (and in another part of town), I'd have gotten a date or at least a proposition out of it. If I'd been 10 years younger, I'd have been mortified. At 45, it was just funny—and a cheap thrill. I have to get my fun where I can right now.
The moral of this story is do not buy cheap, outlet lingerie. The good stuff is worth every penny, if only to be the sole support of two dependents.
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