Wrangle Those Bosoms!

So then…she peeks outside the curtain of the dressing room and whispers excitedly, “Is she back yet?” Chloe is literally giddy with joy.

She is being fitted for her first bra. She is 9.

Most of her classmates are already 10 and have begun wearing bras to school.

Chloe feels the time is right for her too. “Mom, I really – really – need a bra!”

So off to Nordstroms we go, since the department store is known for its professional lingerie ladies who work with you to find the perfect fit.

Saleslady Myra returns to the dressing room with 3 more selections. Chloe tries them on. Myra adjusts straps and hooks. She talks about fabric and breathability and the importance of the careful care and cleaning of one’s bras.

Chloe is soaking it all up, reveling in this “big girl” experience.

As we exit the store, we’re both grinning, satisfied that she’s succeeded in purchasing two bras in the correct size, fabric, and color.

Every day, she ceremoniously dons a bra before getting dressed, making a big production of it – shutting the door, whispering, looking at me meaningfully since this sort of thing can only be discussed between two women such as us.

One day, she can’t find them right away, so she’s in a panic. “Mom, Mom, I can’t find my bras! I can’t go to school without a braaaaaaaa!”

Oh, the horror!

I want to point out that until very recently she was breezy and braless every day at school and everywhere else – and she could probably get by for one day without the world being aghast in alarm. But I merely help her locate the errant underclothes and she quickly puts one on with great relief.

She loves wearing a bra. She calls her grandmother in Florida. “You know, Grammy, I’m wearing a bra now,” she says quite seriously. Grammy oohs and aahs and makes the appropriate congratulatory remarks.  Every time a Victoria’s Secret commercial comes on, Chloe shoots me a conspiratorial grin.

This excitement goes on for about 3 weeks, then Chloe turns to me one day and says thoughtfully, “By the way, Mom, what does a bra do exactly?”

–Darcy Perdu

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(What’s your story? Have your kids absolutely had to have something? Do you remember your first bra? Any bra mishaps? Share some good bra stories about you or your relatives in the Comments Section!)

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7 replies on “Wrangle Those Bosoms!

  1. Mimi Gin said:

    Seeing as how I detest bras, I am amazed that my daughter, now 25, probably has more bras at any one time then I have had in MY LIFE! Yes, I do wear a bra, everyday. But I hate them, hate shopping for them, hate wearing them.

    So then… When my daughter was in third grade she began playing basketball. The uniform shirts the girls wore had huge arm and neck holes. My suggestion for the team: wear a sports bra under the shirt to prevent unwanted views while playing. Well, my little “tom boy” suddenly became all about wearing them, everywhere, under everything, with matching underwear no less! And I had to go shopping with her, because, OMG, Dad just doesn’t understand. Well, sweetie, neither do I! Neither do I!

  2. Mimi, I agree with you, I detest bras! They’re so constricting. I used to tell my friends that as soon as I come home from work, I take off my bra and my wedding ring. One friend asked, “Really? Whose home are you visiting?”

  3. I was out of town on a trip. My wife was home watching Geraldo Rivera in a documentary on safe sex. Geraldo had a fellow on the show demonstrate the strength of a condom by pulling it over his head and nose and then exhaling through his nose to make the condom expand like a balloon over and around his head.

    So then… My five year old son walked in the room just as the condom popped off the guy’s head and went wildly blowing air and circling the room. Naturally my boy wanted to know the whole story. My wife put him off and told him I would tell him all about it when I got home.

    She called me and informed me I could be our son’s sex educator when I came home. I asked her to get some sex education books for small children from my Mother who worked for the county library system.

    When I arrived home, I took him in his room and showed him a condom and explained about how babies are made and read him the entire contents of four or five of those little books which must have taken me a couple of hours.

    So then…as I wrapped up my lesson he looked up at me, took the condom out of my hand and said, “Can you put this on your head and blow it up?”

    So then… I said in a gentle and kind fatherly manner, “HELL NO!” Get your Mother to do it!

  4. Hazel Rude said:

    Hi Darcy,

    Great topic and again, I am your number one fan but still hoping you will include airplane stories some day.

    So then, I am about eleven years old. While quite advanced intellectually, I am a far cry from a young girl blossoming into a young woman. (Gosh I wish back in my days they had injected our meat and dairy products that help early development these days.)
    Title: Coming Out of the Closet: by Hazel Rude

    Oh, how I longed to wear a bra. Many a days I would go to the basement of Carsons (Boston Store in Milwaukee), not as bra savvy as Nordstroms, but they carried a wide array of bras in boxes — Double A, Triple A, below Triple A. Oh, how I longed to be a full-fledged woman. But as flat as a pancake, not a single sales person would even honor me with a glance to be services for my badge of busom honor despite my pleas to at least, “measure me.”

    So then, I discovered a unique treasure. Nestled secretly under the garments and undergarments, I found this pink plastic device. A remarkable device that I had seen on the last pages of Cosmopolitan magazine. Two plastic handles attached with a heavy wire in between. I uncovered the instructions underneath other garments and undergarments instructing the “user” to press the two plastic panels together, thus to build up the breast. Deep inside my sister’s closet, each and every day, I would do 20 repetitions once an hour for 3 hours. At times (especially) when I had done 3-4 sets of repetitions within a day, I was certain that that my breasts had become so enlarged that I had to hide my “new development.” So I would walk into the kitchen with a large sweatshirt (so my parents wouldn’t take notice of their young daughter’s unusually quick development.) Crossing arms over my chest with the large sweatshirt, I would walk in to the kitchen asking what’s for dinner — (secretly hoping that one of my parents would clearly march me over to Carson’s for an immediate professional fitting.)

    As I did so, I wouldn’t even be graced with a glance from my parents as they noticed nothing different about my appearance — even a large baggy sweatshirt (which seemed unusual given the dog days of August in Wisconsin with 100 plus degree temperatures.) Though one of those days, after a rather strenuous bust routine in the closet (with the device), my mom did say, “Hazel, dear, you look a little flushed.”

    I went immediately into the bathroom and saw that my face was completely red (due to my strenuous bosom-busting routine) and then realized, something is wrong!

    I immediately went back to talk to my parents in the kitchen and broke down. Shedding more than a tear or two, I explained my recent weeks of bust-building exercise. I sobbed uncontrollably because I was convinced that the device made me pregnant (which would explain my flushed state — and why this apparatus was advertised in the classified section of Cosmopolitan!) Clearly enhanced and accelerated breast augmentation must lead to pregnancy!!

    My parents were in a state of shock as they had “no friggin idea” what I was talking about and then burst out in laughter as I walked them through my deception and the use of this questionable device.

    Another proud moment of Hazel Rude’s development and the dark secrets that at one time, were known only to her.

    • Judy said:

      I love this story! And I applaud your willingness to come clean on your “pregnancy” so willingly. I would have harbored that secret for weeks, perhaps even looking it up in the unabridged dictionary we were cautioned not to look naughty things in, before making myself so ill I had no choice but to tell.

      If it makes you feel better, I would have gladly traded bosoms with you in grade school.

  5. Judy said:

    I was a scrawny kid until I BA-ZOOMed into bosomhood in 5th grade straight to a C cup. However, Mother Nature is a b-word and didn’t even give me nice curvy boobs, but these wildly swinging conical shaped things. AND my mother said I was too young for a bra. So I trudged off to school every day with these out of control beasts under my shirt. Boys teased me and girls taunted me, saying I stuffed my bra, which obviously I didn’t, since I didn’t have a bra on. Later pajama shopping, I insisted on these PJs that came with a little under top, sort of like a sports bra which I wore in lieu of a real bra. When mom finally took me bra shopping two years later she had me in Sears trying on those 8 hook across, industrial steel belted, 18-hour, cross your heart, cone-shaped things that she wears. Thank god a sales lady took pity and intervened.

    I later took those wild swinging objects of hatred and worked in a topless bar and made a ridiculous amount of money for being braless. Who is laughing now, fellow 5th grade class???!!!!!