Hubby decided he fancied a field trip today. The problem was, we didn’t know where to go.
Wherever it was, we wouldn’t leave Maggie in the car, so it meant only a short walk before she could have a rest.
We ended up on the M5 heading for Gloucester, to do a bit of ‘personal shopping’ for me.
The car park behind the cathedral was full, so we tried along the main pedestrian precinct as sometimes there are disabled spaces available for badge holders. We were lucky, and managed to park just outside the shop I wanted to go into.
Hubby stayed in the car with the dog and people watched.
Now, I am a big girl, but I am not a BIG girl, if you get what I mean.
Saying that though, I didn’t realise I had quite so much up top until I had my first mammogram and there it was, spread out all over the X-ray plate having its picture taken.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a little accident with one of my bras, and put my finger through the back. I have to confess that the last time I went shopping for underwear (I can’t say lingerie because I don’t go in for frills, lacy panels, matching sets or designer labels, though come to think of it I did buy several packs of knickers about 6 months ago) was in preparation for my trip to NZ in 2010, so this particular over-shoulder-boulder-holder had certainly lasted well.
There are certainly some very pretty bras available, if you want skimpy support-nothing pieces of string, under-wired boob traps for the uplifting and overspilling effect, or sufficient padding coming out of your chest to keep your nose warm.
All I wanted was a simple, basic bra in one of the larger sizes, with a B cup please.
That would be a No then.
The largest size on the rack was a 40, with a C or DD cup (stop smiling guys). No good to me at all, so I asked the assistant.
She was lovely, and if there was a survey on customer service today, she would have had 15 out of 10.
Checking the back label for available sizes in a style I liked, she went up to check in the stockroom in case there were some in my size to be put out. I told her I wasn’t worried about the colour, and if she had two, I’d have them both.
Sadly, she came back empty-handed but asked if I had tried on-line via their website. I said no, so she said if I found what I wanted, I could arrange for collection from the shop so that I could try them on and if they didn’t fit or I didn’t like them, they could be returned at no extra cost to me.
She also said about supermarkets and one of the larger discount stores stocking a good selection, but I explained that they had little if anything without padding or wires, unless I wanted a sports bra (something more like a boob vest which you put on over your head).
Leaving the shop, I turned right and went into the one next door, a chain I had used many years ago and at one stage had been the only place to get my grammar school uniform! How times have changed, no uniforms in sight, and not much else either actually!
I made a
bra beeline for the back of the shop which housed a small display of underwear.
The under-wired styles were at the top, the padded ones in the middle, but the basic no frills with perhaps a bow on the front like grandma used to wear range were on the bottom shelf. Typically, everything I touched fell on the floor.
Not one, but two styles and even better, one of each in my size and cup size!
OK, they were a bit pricey, but I wasn’t bothered, nor did I want to try them on. I know this can be a bit iffy as us women should be fitted for our bras as the majority of us wear the wrong size anyway.
The next bit was paying for them.
Oh boy. Literally.
I had a ‘boy’ serve me, a young man who looked no more than fourteen. I greeted him by name and asked how his day was going.
He looked inquiringly at me as if trying to place me but not appear rude, and then asked how I knew his name.
I told him he was wearing a badge, and wasn’t that the idea, for customers to use it?
He relaxed a bit then, and became quite chatty.
He loved my sweater (the red glittery one my Mum knitted all those years ago) and told me he had something similar but with a Christmas pudding on the front (O-kay then).
We got talking about shopping and how we were going to spend our Christmas (‘Would you like a bag?’), so I told him about our forthcoming ten pound dash, which made him laugh.
Actually, our entire conversational exchange lifted the mood of the shoppers behind me who all had faces as long as next week and frowns to match a recently ploughed field.