This will probably send the guys running while the gals will be searching their own memory banks about a long ago event. Have faith fellows, a lot of you have daughters so this post should be a little familiar.
Brief back ground. My Mother was a sickly person as long as I could remember. She had severe asthma at a time when there was little help to treat it. Part of my very first memories were hospital runs with Mom gasping “I can't breathe !”
Complications from that disease eventually took her at a fairly young age. Because of her illness, a lot of my life lessons came from this woman who often held class from the couch while wrapped in a blanket.
Mother was a very late bloomer herself so she never thought I might be ready for the “facts of life and the joys of womanhood lecture”. Thus, all my information came from school yard chatter, most of which wasn't close to the truth. I was a teen and woefully ignorant of biological matters that happen to a young girls body. I just knew that until then, nothing was happening.
My body finally started to develop when I was around 14. Camisoles were no longer doing the job. My best friend took me aside at school and said I really needed to do “something.” If my parents noticed, they never mentioned anything but according to my peers, I needed a bra. Good grief, now what.
Mother wasn't physically able to take me bra shopping had I even felt able to discuss the matter. Also I knew she would tell my Dad and that wasn't acceptable. So I went back to my school yard source. My bosomy best friend who originally brought the matter up, showed me a catalog that offered training bras for $1.50, including shipping.
Boy was I excited. I was becoming a woman. This was pre credit card days so I sent off my order with a dollar and two quarters taped to it. I made getting the mail my responsibility for the next 10 days. Finally it came and I locked my bedroom door to try on my new equipment.
Ouch--- I felt what I'm sure the ancient Japanese women must have experienced trying to bind their breasts. My trainer was too small. A super tight ace bandage would have worked as well. I dug into my baby sitting money and sent off for a bra that actually had a size attached to it—AA. Evidently, I was out of training.
It took a total of three tries and $4.50 of my hard earned money to get it right. My learning curve was huge. Who knew you had to measure the chest area but success was finally mine. I was both proud and self conscious about my new look. It was hard to strut proudly and hunch over at the same time but I managed.
One day, I forgot and left the bra on a chair in my room and my Mom found it. Her eyes were dancing with sad amusement as I explained myself. Sad that I was growing up and not needing her but amused that it had taken so many tries and maybe I did need her.
She bit her lip half in two trying not to but my tale of trial and error made her struggle with laughter till she was out of breath. She tried to be soothing with a few “Aw Sweeties” between struggles. Pretty sure I wasn't fooled. It was only much later that I appreciated the humor.
When she settled down and quit choking on her giggles she got serious and decided I was over due for “the talk”. I tried to convince her that I all ready knew all “that” but she insisted and we both began that sometimes uncomfortable journey into knowledge of what a woman can expect and the facts of life.
Learning I could NOT get pregnant from sitting on a strange toilet seat was a real shocker. That was only one of the gazillion misconceptions I harbored. I kept saying “Are you sure about that?” She kept insisting she was sure.
This was gold and I couldn't wait to get to school the next day with my new found knowledge and fist full of myth busters. Funny thing is that I wasn't totally believed. Seems school yard lore had more credibility than clinical facts did. Their loss I felt. At least I no longer feared strange toilet seats.
Back to the bra. The really sad thing there was that I basically wore that same size bra all through high school, only moving up to an single A size when I graduated. I ended up throwing my mortarboard, tassel and my AA's into the air on the same day.
Ok, now all you double D's can brag about your first bra.