Business Plan

You know what would be a great idea? If Victoria Secret opened a bar in their store. I was actually at Kohl's tonight so that wouldn't have really helped me. Then again, if Vic's had bar, I might have gone there instead. After all, I had to walk right by there, or slink by as the case may be.

Back to Kohl's. I really could have used a drink when I discovered that Kohl's no longer carries the bras that I like. As in, I like them so well that I have been buying them for years and, here's the best part, don't even need to try them on! Now, I was wandering in the carnival fun house that is the intimates section. At least I was alone, no kids, no perky cast member telling me lies. Speaking of which, if I were at Vic's and they did have a bar, I'd have had to make it a double at this point.

Which brings me to, well, to me, and my doubles. "The Girls," I like to call 'em. I have strict rules for The Girls. They must not jiggle around; they must stay inside their designated area, no oozing out and creating what looks to be four of them; no touching each other or the chest below them; that creates a creepy, sweating feeling. That's it. Three simple rules; I don't think I'm asking too much here.

There are a lot of brands to choose from at Kohl's, and each brand has a lot of styles and a lot of promises. Most cannot deliver on those promises unless you have the kind of chest that doesn't actually need their product in the first place. I also noticed that those are the sizes that get cute, fun, sexy bras. Once you get into the sizes for the "must haves," there's a more serious tone. What is up with that? See why a fortyish woman who has nursed three babies and hasn't been a "nearly" size in many a year might be wanting a drink?!

And now we come to The Wonderbra. (If I knew how to make that little trademark symbol here I would, because that is what it is actually called, but maybe you knew that.) I'd heard of the Wonderbra and I was intrigued. Frankly, The Girls have been slipping lately, if you know what I mean. Also, it came in black, which I have been wanting for a while, and in my size, but with out four inch wide straps and three hooks in the back. It was almost cute.

I took it to the dressing room and disrobed for the fourth time tonight. (Again, a margarita would go a long way here.) I put the bra on and turned to the mirror. Pretty good, but unfamiliar looking. I pulled my skinny t-shirt back on over it. (That's one of my tests that I always do, that and jumping up and down.) Sister. Mary. Francis. I have not seen my chest in that formation in about twenty years, ok, fifteen, whatever. They were standing right out there at high attention for all the world to be awed by. If you didn't look at my face, or lift up the shirt and see the post child belly, you'd have thought I was 20 again. I turned and got the side view. Nice. Back to the front. Still nice. I pondered. I debated. I changed back into my clothes. Should a fortyish woman try to look twenty? Is that ridiculous?

I put the bra on the I-guess-I-don't-really-need-this rack. I headed out the door.

Less than 10 steps later I turned around and grabbed the bra and some matching panties.

Now I'm home with them and thinking I'm pretty sure I'll look good and feel good when I wear them, but I'm even more certain that, right now, I still need a drink.