My only excuse for sending two manly men into the great silky abyss of the women's brassiere department, alone and unsupervised, is that I didn't want to wear one in the first place.
Let me explain.
It was my first day back in Ohio on vacation and we had spent the entire day running from this place to that. After arriving back at home at dusk, my very male father and my very male friend decided they needed to shop a little more. And when you live in my small hometown (which doesn't even have a stoplight, let alone any bigger retail or grocery stores) and you need eggs, motor oil, tampons, or a bathing suit and you don't want to drive far, you head to the next town and hit up Walmart.
So yes, I could have went along. I could have. Expect for the fact that when I arrived home, I changed out of my "able to be seen in public clothes" and into my "I look like a sloppy bum at-home-clothes" which includes no bra. And again- yes, I could have easily slipped it back on. But as you well know, ladies, when you finally let the girls loose for the evening and that uncomfortable contraption of a bra finds itself on the bathroom doorknob, your day is done. End. Of. Story.
But I needed one item that I forgot to pack. And I really needed it before the next day. I really needed a strapless bra to wear under a strapless sundress for our family picnic. But here was the dilemma: I forgot all my strapless bras at home....in Wisconsin....about 10 hours away. Yeah, not good. My entire drawer of strapless bras was forgotten about in all my packing for the trip.
So what's a girl to do? Send a man to buy her a bra. Actually, send two.
And I honestly (and foolishly) thought this wouldn't be quite the dramatic undertaking that it became. I explained to these two deer-in-headlights dudes exactly what type of bra they would be looking for.
Their mission (although they had no choice but to accept it) was to find a strapless bra: Nude in color. Size medium. With no clips, fasteners, wires, padding, or anything other than stretchy material. I told them, "Just picture a wide cloth headband. But instead of fitting your head, it needs to fit my boobs." This mission would be easy, I said. I've seen them in there before. There would be a ton of them. The tag may even say "Bandeau", just like headband. Easy! It should be a two minute stop-off in the bra department.
Boy, was I wrong.
After what seemed like ages, I got the first phone call from my friend. "I found one, but it's not the right one. They don't have what you're looking for," he said, clearly stressed out already.
I assured him that they had to. Then I said, "Why don't you just send me a picture?" Because the description he was giving me didn't even sound like he was in the right section of the store.
But then this picture popped up on my phone.
To which he replied, in typical guy fashion, "I don't know. But it looks like a headband. Kind of. And that's the only ones they have without hookers."
Hookers? I think he meant clasps. I hope so anyway. Because two men in a bra section searching through the selection of goods and talking about hookers may make some of the other shoppers a bit uncomfortable.
But ok, moving past the hookers. I still thought it looked awfully padded. So I asked this: "If I had that bra on and you grabbed my boob: Would you feel boob? Or would you feel padding?"
I know, I know...but there was no other way to put it.
To which he must have turned to my dad and said, "If she had this on and we grabbed her boob: Would you feel boob or would you feel padding?"
Welcome to the twilight zone. Because my dad contemplates the answer and says, "Well, I think we'd feel padding."
I could also hear an outburst of laughing from somewhere else in the aisle. And I can only imagine what kind of spectacle they were making as they were groping the bras. I'm surprised security wasn't called.
Ok, so it was confirmed. Too much padding. But at least they knew what I was looking for. So I told him to take a picture of the entire aisle and send that to me.
And he did.
"We did! We asked two of them!" Clearly, they were not enjoying this search-and-destroy operation. And they were hunters. I mean, come on! That's what guys do. Hunt and gather. Maybe not bras, but there's a first time for everything, right?
"Can you just send me a picture of all the bras? They have to have the one I'm talking about. I've seen them there before."
So then a slew of pictures came in.
But then nothing.
Nothing for about 45 minutes. Did his phone die? Was he arrested? My mom (who was also braless and unable to leave the house) said, "Someone probably called the police on the two perverts snapping pictures and fondling the merchandise." We burst out laughing, but then started to worry. I mean, what would I wear to the picnic the next day?
Oh, you thought I was concerned about their jailing? Nah.
But then I got a call: "Ok, I'm back in bras. We had to get out of there and go into the sporting goods for awhile. People were starting to look at us weird. But seriously, Laura. They don't have your headband bra."
Which then lead to about 10 more pictures of the intimates aisle. And then THERE IT WAS!
So he grabbed a black/nude set and they high-tailed it out of the store.
When they arrived home, they looked exhausted. They looked as if they had grown the cotton, harvested it, opened up a bra factory, and hand-crafted the bras themselves. In the amount of time it took these two fellas to actually find the bra, they could have probably done all that. But bottom line: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
My dad tossed me the bag and said, "Next time, go down in the basement and grab a roll of duct tape and use that to keep 'em in place. We're probably on American's Most Wanted now with the amount of time we spent feeling women's underwear."
And then they went out into the garage to do whatever guys do in a garage for the entire night.
But lesson learned. Never send a man (or two) to buy your bras.
Unless you want a great story to tell afterward.