... when she has to think of new underwear. I was clutching the elastic of my knickers through the pocket in my coat (and several layers of other clothing) as I went to the Post Office yesterday and decided reluctantly that the Time Had Come. These days anything that isn't actually seen by other eyes than my own is ignored and not replaced for as long as possible. I don't really care if I am knocked down by a car or slip on ice and nurses see my sad grey pants, I just don't feel like expending cash on the largely invisible. The soutien-gorge is entirely another matter of course. There's a charming french (naturally) article in Wikipedia on the subject of women's support systems and breast enhancers over the centuries in which the soutien-gorge is described thus: Le soutien-gorge est un sous-vêtement féminin composé de deux bonnets servant à soutenir et embellir les seins. Il est habituellement commercialisé avec une pièce de lingerie coordonnée (porte-jarretelles, shorty, slip, string, etc.)
I remember my first extremely uncomfortable experience with the English brassiere. There was nothing remotely sexy about the harness my mother bought for me when I started to get embarassd by the comments of the boys during games lessons (and on sports day - those 100 yards races... it gave a whole horrible meaning to breasting the finishing tape.) The confinement and the itchiness was terrible but had to be endured. One more of the downsides of being female. At least I saw it like that for a year or two but once into the fifth form the advantages to having a bust suddenly dawned and made it a worthwhile attribute after all.
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Bras chart my adult life. From structured cotton to no bra at all, via: the no-bra type, wired shelves; lacy half-cups; racy stripes; backless; strapless to dear old comfortable triumph. Thanks for the memories.
My 1st was when I was at guide camp, and my compatriots encouraged me to buy a pink satin one.
The main instigator always wore 2, so I had some catching up to do.[we were 11 and thought we should look like Debbie Reynold's circular stitch, pointed ones]
Our Guide captain forbade us to wear bras and would have a 'bra inspection' which involved running her hand down between our shoulder blades to check there was no strap in evidence. Her husband was a Mosleyite and one of the Big Wheels in the Moral Re-Armament movement, not that I knew that at the time but it explained a lot later when I realised!
I left Guides very quickly!!
I got thrown out for subversion, i.e. questioning Captain plus not seeing the relevance of learning the morse code.
:>) Well done. No less than I would have expected of you!!
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