6 children later

We're not the "go-out-to-eat" types. The Mister and I are lucky if we go out more that 3 times a year. Being the tight wad that I am, I don't usually get much satisfaction from a restaurant meal because I know that I could make that money stretch much further at the grocery store. This anniversary I resolved to savor the moment and not worry about the pocket book.

It was liberating. We even ordered an appetizer.

While we were in the mode of doing things that are out of character,

we decided to take a stroll through the mall.

Let me be clear: We are not mall zombies.

I avoid going to the mall at all costs, especially around Christmas,

but when you've got some time to kill and no children in tow, it doesn't seem so bad.

As we made our way through the mall we took in all of the weirdness that a mall has to offer. Honestly, I think I could just sit on a bench and people watch for hours on end.

Truth is better that fiction any day.

So we come upon a shop that is decked out in pink polka dots. Doug makes some smart comment about it, knowing that it is Victoria's Secret. Before I know it, he has talked me into going in to check out a new bra. Several years ago I had a VS bra and absolutely loved it. I hated that Doug had spent so much on it, but tried to enjoy being spoiled.

You can imagine my disgust when one of the dogs (who has since ran away)
stole it off the clothesline and chewed it to pieces. As hard as it was, I did forgive him.

Back to my story.

I'm convinced that my beloved talked me into going in there just so he could laugh at me being so squeamish about underwear being EVERYWHERE! I looked through the store, couldn't find what I wanted (I belong to the whites-only club), so I was ready to just bolt. But alas, I was cornered by a sales girl young enough to be my daughter. She was so sweet and nice, I didn't have the heart to tell her I was just leaving.

Instead I bluntly asked, "Do you have ANY bras that aren't padded with that foamy stuff?"

She says that they have one...and guess what it's called...the naked or was it the nude? Either way, nice name. Then she asks me what size I am. I explain that I a nursing mom, so it varies from hour to hour. Next she asked me if I'd ever had a custom sizing done.

Hesitantly I say, "No?"

(Yes, I phrased it as a question, unsure if this was the right answer.)

"Do you want to get one?"

What exactly does a custom bra sizing entail? Now I really want to leave.

She must have seen the concern in my face because she quickly said, "I can measure you right now, just over your shirt."

A humongous sigh of relief.

Good news. I've been wearing the right size all along.

So she asks me if I'd like to try on something.

I decide to give it a go. Afterall, I've got some time on my hands.

She sets up this fancy dressing room for me and tells me to just ring the

service bell if I need assistance. Assistance with what?

If I can't figure this stuff out at my age I'm hopeless.

I shut the door and notice across the top of the mirror the word STRIP. Nice.

She has picked out 3 bras for me to try: 2 padded push ups and the naked, all in black.

Did I say I wanted a push up?

Maybe she thought I needed a little spice in my life.

I'll stick to the push ups at the gym, thank you.

I'm glad I was tired, that way I could appreciated the humor of the situation.

Everything is funnier when I'm tired.