Forty-three years of living has taught me there’s plenty out there that falls under the heading of miraculous. At least in my universe.
There’s the virgin birth. The fact that, despite an appalling lack of success in nurturing anything green and /or flowering, The Codefendants continue to live and thrive. Although some days it’s kinda touch and go. And childhood experiences notwithstanding, brussel sprouts are actually quite tasty.
The retail industry would have me believe that almost anything is miraculous. I have to look no further than my email to know this little tidbit. My life will be changed instantly *snaps fingers* if I’d just connect with someone dubiously named %#&@ Buddy. I’ll have the stamina of a wild beast if I’d buy this pill. And if I’d just succumb to the allure of the Square Dance pan, my kitchen dreams would be a reality. Funny, I always envisioned a personal chef making that happen. But whatever.
As I shared earlier this year, I stayed up ’til the wee hours following my surgery, my days and nights mixed up like a baby’s. At least I never wet myself. Nope, it was me, Angela Lansbury, and an endless cycle of infomercials for almost six solid weeks.
I finally buckled under and bought a Miracle Bamboo cushion after trying one out at a quilt retreat. I’ll never really know if they actually make one’s buttocks any cooler because, frankly, I’m not thoughtful enough to ask and they’re not talking. But (no pun intended) my buns aren’t tired from the daily strain of driving to and fro to work anymore.
Riding high on my bamboo success, I decided in an unguarded moment while standing in the ‘as seen on TV’ aisle, to try out the Miracle Bamboo Bra. There was even a helpful cutout in the packaging to allow me a feel of what was in store. Never mind the weird looks I was getting from the dude behind me as I felt up an as yet boob-less brassiere. It certainly felt like it’d be comfy and for $19.95, how could I go wrong?
After arriving home, I whipped out my new over the shoulder boulder holder and proceeded to give it a whirl. Apparently what I’d been gratuitously feeling up in the store was the padded cup and anyone whose seen me knows bra padding is superfluous. Kind of like an elevator in an outhouse. I digress.
The fabric felt weird. Familiar, but weird and although I could put a boob in it, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Over my head it went. No fasteners, no underpinnings. Just delusions, I suppose. I fiddled, I shimmied, I mimed reeling in a baby hippopotamus because isn’t that how all busty girls get into a bra?
Finally, I was there. I gave the straps one last snap and let go.
Here comes the miracle part.
The miracle is that I didn’t break my jaw from the recoil of my boobs hitting the carpet and rebounding skyward. It was like the girls went bungee jumping only I didn’t hurl them off a bridge, I just turned them loose. Or maybe unleashed them is a better phrase. Sweet sister Sadie!
And then it hit me. A memory, not a mammary.
The fabric was like that of pantyhose, a contraption I’d long since chosen to forgo because they freakin’ suck! I’d just tried to truss the ladies into pantyhose. No wonder they plummeted like Superman exposed to kryptonite!
Bottom line: unless you have boobies instead of a rack large enough to feed sub-Saharan Africa, please do not buy the Miracle Bamboo bra. Your boobs, and any small children or pets standing at your feet, will thank you.