The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Training Day
My first bra was a hand-me-down. I have three older female cousins and I’ll never know with whom this one originated, but I did know that it didn’t fit.
My aunt told me that it was mandatory for a girl my age to wear a bra and I was under her care for the summer, so my time had come.
The bra was white cotton, with lumpy cups from too many washings and it itched. It felt like cardboard under my T-shirt and the straps pulled on my sunburn.
Riding a bicycle barefoot on the country roads in Texas in the summer had been a liberating feeling. But with this new-to-me recycled bra I felt constricted.
I couldn’t lift my arms without it riding up and then I had to stop the bike and tug it down. I was always pulling and adjusting and now I was completely self-conscious. Did it show through my shirt? The easy freedom of summer had hit a lumpy cotton wall.
Once I was back home, my bra went missing after a birthday sleepover. The birthday girl was a pain in the ass and had taken it out of my overnight bag. She told me she was going to hang it on the door of our classroom at school on Monday morning. I got there early to stake out the entrance. She didn’t make good on the threat, and she never returned my bra.
I did research and found a Danskin bra that I wanted. Sold in dance stores, this was the precursor to today’s sports bra. No hooks. No lumpy cups, and it fit. I could move!
Except for a brief flirtation with Victoria’s Secret in the 1980s, I have stayed loyal to the same style since I was eleven.
By Mary Allison Tierney
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My aunt told me that it was mandatory for a girl my age to wear a bra and I was under her care for the summer, so my time had come.
The bra was white cotton, with lumpy cups from too many washings and it itched. It felt like cardboard under my T-shirt and the straps pulled on my sunburn.
Riding a bicycle barefoot on the country roads in Texas in the summer had been a liberating feeling. But with this new-to-me recycled bra I felt constricted.
I couldn’t lift my arms without it riding up and then I had to stop the bike and tug it down. I was always pulling and adjusting and now I was completely self-conscious. Did it show through my shirt? The easy freedom of summer had hit a lumpy cotton wall.
Once I was back home, my bra went missing after a birthday sleepover. The birthday girl was a pain in the ass and had taken it out of my overnight bag. She told me she was going to hang it on the door of our classroom at school on Monday morning. I got there early to stake out the entrance. She didn’t make good on the threat, and she never returned my bra.
I did research and found a Danskin bra that I wanted. Sold in dance stores, this was the precursor to today’s sports bra. No hooks. No lumpy cups, and it fit. I could move!
Except for a brief flirtation with Victoria’s Secret in the 1980s, I have stayed loyal to the same style since I was eleven.
By Mary Allison Tierney
Labels: Mary Allison Tierney
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