Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Number Eight: The Underwear

I said goodbye to my left boob, even gave it its own post on facebook- I thanked it for serving me well for 31 years, before realising that as a fairly late bloomer I’d probably only had about 11 good years out of it! And I reckon cleavage-wise it’s only since having children that there was even anything to see!  This thought prompted an underwear related stroll down memory lane… oooh the fun I’ve had shoving the boobs into various tops and dresses. The beauty of having little ‘uns is that in my youth they could be contained by the teeniest boob tube or little waif of fabric with a back and neck tie. (One reason to be glad I do not have daughters… I dread to think what my mum thought when I went out dressed in a square of material with ties I now more readily associate with the back of a hospital gown!) I have though found the perfect cleavage picture to document what once was!

Look at me pretending the photo is about the food not my boobs!

This photo was taken about five weeks after Harry was born; my boobs grew throughout the evening and were ready to burst by the time I got home to feed my baby!

My bra related story takes place at work; yep in a school- not the kind of place you expect underwear related stories to be set! (Not unless you’ve maybe lost said job!) In my old school we had a special day every year ‘Dads in school day’, all the dads were invited to spend the day in lessons with the children and the day ended with a big assembly where certain dads performed with their offspring on stage. This went on merrily for a few years until the dads got a bit too confident! My story takes place at the very end of the very last Dads in school day’, (you may see the connection!) well, on the way out of that very last assembly one (for arguments sake let’s call him stupid) dad thought it would be wise to walk behind me and undo the back of my bra! Now I’m no prude and had this happened in a club or bar I’d have elbowed stupid dad in the nuts and told him to ‘eff off, unfortunately I was surrounded by a class of Year Sixes so had to remain professional! (Very frustrating!)

My knickers related story is set further away in Corfu! (And long, long ago…when I was about 17!) Now, you have to understand that my mum had a bizarre habit of storing away any underwear that had seen better days so that all five of us could pack it as ‘Holiday Underwear’. I’m reliably informed that most of you would be more likely to buy new underwear to celebrate going on holiday but oh no not us! We took our scabby undies away with us! Why? I hear you cry! Why indeed? (I still to this day 14 years on from this event cannot believe the reason!)  Here it is: because then, whilst on holiday we could wear it and throw it away… saving us room in our suitcases on the way home! Room for what?? Tacky souvenirs? I’m really not sure but some things you just do not question until you move out! And believe me what happened next was definitely going to lead me to question this certain little family tradition! Probably about a week into this family holiday I went off with another teenage girl to a bar further down the beach, there was some kind of Greek night event that we thought we couldn’t miss! After a couple of hours of entertainment, one part involving us drinking Ouzo through a funnel, there was some dancing. A Greek waiter grabbed me and pulled me up onto a table to dance. I was having fun until I realised that the waiter was gradually pulling my already short dress higher and higher. Oh my God, I realised… the table of holiday maker below were about to get an eye full of my throw away knickers! And as I gently forced the ‘gentleman’s’ hands back down he laughed and said relax! Relax! Relax!! Again I’d like to clarify that I’m certainly no prude but how could I explain about the throw aways? (And would I really want to even if I could?)  I’m now looking back on this story and wondering if my mum had an ulterior motive…maybe she already knew all about Greek waiters and found a practical way of keeping them at arms length when it came to her daughters!

So now that my old bras now have new homes, (eBayed!) I’m now sporting a crappy selection of M&S post surgery bras. I think after this little trip down memory lane I might just pop out and treat myself to a whole new lot of knickers! (But no backless tops for this respectable mother of two!)

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