Because we at the Coast of Illinois are all about safety and keeping your adult children out of therapy.
WARNING! If you are male this post may cause much distress and possibly place images in your head that you can not un-think.
Hoping to switch up my sleeping attire which consists mostly of large stretchy t-shirts, I bought a new pajama top. It was pinky-orange, supremely soft with a little twist in the front and a seam, suggesting a waist. It was not clingy but not so large that a family of five could camp in it for a weekend. Plus the print was hibiscus which matched my super comfy hibiscus lounge pants.
The first evening I wore the top I felt marvelous. The little knot detail/seam hugged my breastical area as the remaining fabric fell away in a flow-ey, not pregnant-looking manner. I got compliments! From my family! Over my choice of lounge wear!
I put the top on last night, hoping for a little positive reinforcement.
It took no less than four Cirque de Soliel moves to get the breasticals stationed in their appropriate positions. And, the minute I reached for the bathroom door MyLeftBreast* went AWOL and attempted to escape MyRightBreast who was hogging all the fabric thus pulling the knot away from center and putting it more in the armpit area.
Several more moves ala Cirque and everyone was back in position. I found that by keeping my shoulders back, neck straight and chin up, everything stayed where God and Merona wanted it.
Until I bent over to turn the television on. MyRightBreast determined this as the window of opportunity and literally leaped from its tiny fabric ledge and out into the Great Room. Thankfully my family has been conditioned to interpret and ignore the various shrieks I emit throughout the day. As practiced in drill, they averted their eyes and pretended that the Harbor Freight Flyer was the singularly most interesting piece of paper they had ever seen thus allowing me time to shove Righty back in place.
Of course, this entire episode could have been avoided had I simply worn a bra under my pajama top. Everyone from Miss Galbrieth, my 7th grade home-ec teacher, to Carrie Bradshaw has championed wearing bras 24/7. Clearly these women have never worked twelve hours, standing on their feet while wearing the Playtex Kevlar Pretty Woman Brassiere.
When I get home at night I just want to be comfortable. And not send my children to therapy.
Is that too much to ask?
*MyLeftBreast is in no way related to the Daniel Day Lewis movie My Left Foot.
Although it totally should be.