I came to a couple of realizations today.
The first was when I was talking to the clerk at my post office about underwear. I was returning a package of bras I’d bought by catalog, which did not fit my comfort criteria, and I was voicing my disappointment . She felt my pain and commiserated with me right there at the service counter. She even promised me she would keep a look out for the exchange package, and hoped for my sake it would come quickly.
This led to realization Number One: I’ve finally reached the wizened stage in life where I care more about comfort, relaxation, and convenience than I do appearances, impressions, or popularity. Turns out I really don’t care if my breasts are high and perky. Truth be told, I’d just as soon get them lopped off. It’d be one less thing I’d have to maintain. Well, two less things.
I’m all about complacency now.
I paid for the postage, waved goodbye, and walked through the door. The door of the Post Office.
The. Post. Office.
This led to realization Number Two: I’ve clearly got to get a filter. Did I really just talk to a veritable stranger about my boobie comfort? Honestly? Am I that hard up for conversation, or sympathetic ears? Did I have to impose my weirdness on this poor woman who is bound by postal employee policy to be polite to me? Good Grief, she was a prisoner of my blathering, self-righteousness!
Kind of like you are right now. Well, you’re not exactly a prisoner, but I’m kind of like a train wreck…..appalled as you may be, you just can’t look away.
But Baby, when those new, super-comfortable bras come in, my comfort level will trump your appalled-ness.