I ran to the Piggly Wiggly on Saturday afternoon to pick something up for dinner. I was at my parents' house, and the Pig in that neighborhood is quite upscale, with a lovely wine department...seriously.
I was standing in the check-out line behind a very cute girl...probably in her late teens...who was flirting outrageously with the handsome young man ringing up her purchases. Now, you may ask, why was this extra-ordinary? Because the items she was purchasing were: an economy pack of tampons, a bottle of Midol, and a bag of Hersheys Kisses. At her age, I would have tracked down the oldest, most myopic looking woman in the place to check me out, but she was flirting while buying these most intimate of items.
Of course at my age, I don't care. I suppose I should be happy to still be having periods...I should, but I'm not.
And since I'm discussing such personal issues I have to bring up something that happened on Friday. I wore the wrong bra to work. The wrong bra...how does one define the wrong bra? Too big, no support, back hurts, straps in wrong place. All of these and a hundred other reasons to be miserable. A good bra is a thing to be treasured and any woman will attest to this fact. It is a magical talisman by which the less blessed create the illusion of bounty and the bountifully blessed can minimize the fullness of natures gifts. It can create structure where none exists, alieve an aching back, and make any blouse look better. It helps us to defy gravity and camoflage the ravages of age. It is a miracle of modern technology in that it weighs almost nothing and yet can support the weight of the world (or a couple of DDs). It can create clevage where none exists. But most importantly, a woman in a pretty, lacy, silky bra possesses a confidence that is measurable. She walks taller, straighter, and sexier. She is a power to be reconned with. Give her matching panties and world best beware!
On the other hand, a pair of panty hose in which the elastic is failing is clearly a tool of Satan!
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