practical of you . . . however, some events call for a little something special.”
“Can I get a package of ten panties for ten dollars here? Because I can at Target.” Now I was just messing with her. My underwear wasn’t that bad, but I did enjoy watching her lips press into a straight line.
“Probably not, but you’re just going to have to trust me on this, okay? Time to splurge a little.”
A perky brunette salesgirl with even perkier breasts popped up beside me, waving a bottle of perfume at my face.
“Spritz?” she asked, and then spritzed before I had a chance to answer. I coughed my way through the cloud, waving my hand.
Another salesgirl popped up beside Emily. Actually, she didn’t pop so much as she materialized. Her skin was dark, her hair was natural, and she wore sparkly gold eyeliner that made her look like a princess. Her breasts were perky, too. I suspect that is a job requirement, but really, hers were remarkable. If she could sell me a bra that did that to my girls, count me in.
“Are you shopping for anything in particular, ladies?” Her voice had a husky quality and she exuded sex appeal, even though her outfit of jeans and a formfitting pink T-shirt was very modest. How did women do that? Send out that I’m powerful yet utterly feminine vibe? The only thing I’d ever exuded was something that attracted mosquitoes.
“She’s going to need to get measured,” Emily said, pushing my shoulder. Then her voice lowered as she leaned toward the beautiful salesgirl. “She’s been buying her bras at Target.”
They exchanged a glance, prompting me to straighten my shoulders and stick out my boobs. My Target bras were fine, but the salesgirl’s sympathetic smile was all oh, honey! She pulled a tape measure from her pocket and had it wrapped about my torso faster than I could say 34B. I started to perspire. It wasn’t at all awkward standing in the middle of the crowded store with my arms up as she adjusted the tape around my breasts. I’d had pelvic exams that were less invasive, but I felt slightly better when she murmured that I was a 34C instead of a B.
She showed us around after that, telling me the difference between lined and unlined (which was pretty obvious) and the difference between push-up and demi and full-coverage. There were wireless, and underwire, and T-shirt bras, and strapless, front-close, and racerback, and something called a bralette. Then she talked about thongs, and briefs, and hipsters, and bikinis, and something called boy-shorts. So many variations. Seriously. I was thirty-six years old and I had no idea. There was a whole underworld of unmentionables that no one had ever mentioned to me.
“How have you never heard of boy-shorts?” Emily asked as we stepped into the dressing room, which very much resembled the lobby of a 1920s brothel. Or so I imagined. I set my purse down on the furry white bench next to the huge gilded mirror and slipped out of my jacket.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I guess it’s because I learned all about bra shopping from Gigi. After Mom died, if I needed that kind of thing, she took me to Target.”
“She took me to Target and Walmart and Kmart, too, but I still figured out to shop for nice underwear at a nice underwear store.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Emily. I guess pretty underwear always seemed like an extravagance to me. We didn’t have that much money, and I didn’t have all sorts of guys trying to get a look at mine like you did.”
She set her purse down and frowned. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.”
“It was a compliment. Guys notice you. They don’t notice me. Not usually.”
She stared at me for a second. “See, here’s the thing, Brooke. They do notice you. You just don’t notice them noticing you, and so you assume they’re not interested. The good news is, this pretty underwear isn’t for them, anyway. It’s for you. Even if you’re the only one who sees it. You deserve it. Now, let’s get you out of that very serviceable Maidenform brassiere and into something a little sexier.”
We left the store an hour later, and I had more than doubled my bra collection. I could hardly wait to get home and throw away all my old stuff. The old panties were going, too, because now I had stuff that