CAUTION: This may be a TMI post to some. Especially some of you gentle testosterone laden souls. You’ve been warned…
A friend I hadn’t talked to for a while called me the other day. Her husband was out of town and she had just finished up a very busy month of travel and obligations at home.
She was in bed planning to take a nap after our call.
But during the conversation, her brother decided to pop in for a visit and just strolled unannounced into her bedroom. AGMA’s pretty sure he has boundary issues…
She whispered, “I gotta go. I’m naked under the covers and need to shoo him out so I can get dressed.”
She took all her clothes off for a nap? And her husband was 100’s of miles away? She was naked just for the fun of it? WTF?
AGMA was taken aback.
I’ve never been very fond of prancing in my birthday suit and it kind of surprises me when people are.
When I was young – 5 maybe – my mother, sister and I went on vacation with my aunt, uncle and cousin. We shared a rented cottage on…wait for it…
And this was back in the day when it was spontaneously combusting because there was so much industrial waste/toxic chemicals in it. Okay, maybe the fire was a little bit later – 1969 – but you know that sh*t had to have been building up for years!
But hey, the cottage rental was probably cheap and we could drive there. And we weren’t going to spend that much time submerged in the sludge so it was all good.
I remember getting ready to go to the beach and running out of the cottage without my bathing suit on because I was so excited.
AGMA was evidently fine going commando back in the day.
I don’t remember anything else about that vacation other than running out of the cottage naked, and getting yelled at by everybody to go back in and put some clothes on.
And the body shaming begins…
Like most young women, when I hit puberty, things started changing and looking “different”.
My step-mother took me to the lingerie section of the local department store to get fitted for my first bra. I remember lots and lots of wooden drawers with bras and panties in them, and the whole place smelled like my grandmothers parlor.
It was the shopping trip from hell
It was bad enough that I had to take my shirt off, but then this “old” lady (probably the age I am now…) had to actually touch me when she measured me in various places. While my step-mother and the rest of the store staff looked on.
Okay, maybe not the whole staff, but it felt like a lot of folks were staring at my “buds”.
Once the measuring was done, the torture was to continue…
After rifling through multiple wooden drawers, the sales lady came back to the fitting room with several bras in my size (probably 26AAAAA).
The trying on process involved pulling and pushing and strap adjusting and lots of clinical touching trying to make everything fit the way it should.
AGMA understands that this was normal protocol for the Are You Being Served crew, but to a 12 year old, it was totally humiliating.
As I got older and the “girls” blossomed, it became evident to AGMA that something wasn’t quite right.
I’d seen my older sister without her bra and her girls were happy, perky and at attention. She could totally get away without wearing a bra underneath her shirts and look great.
I mean, this was the 60’s and bra burning was a thing right?
My girls, on the other hand, appeared as if they’d just run a half-marathon without carb loading the night before. They looked exhausted, sad, and were definitely unperky-ish.
AGMA realized it was a bad case of saggy boobs.
No bra burning in my future. I needed all the help I could get.
As a matter of fact, as I got older, I started having to buy steel reinforced bras (underwires) with wide straps and backs to help winch the ladies up to at least appear to act like they were trying to pay attention.
Sometimes it works.
But once the bra is off, they’re off to the barcalounger to watch Oprah reruns.
AGMA’s pretty sure that my lazy ladies are a big part of the reason I never liked going commando as an adult.
All that flipping and flopping just isn’t comfortable.
But one of my best friend is YUGELY BIG up top. I mean so big she has to custom order her bras. Massive, to the point where she gets backaches at times.
And she prances around her house naked all the time.
Maybe AGMA has other issues besides the flipping and flopping?
The times I tried to sleep naked, I’d have the “cafeteria” bad dream. You know, the one where you are either behind the counter serving or you are in line getting food, and you’re naked. But nobody else seems to notice or care but you.
It’s quite unsettling.
So yeah, maybe something else is going on. But at this stage of my life, AGMA thinks it’s probably a moot point.
Although I’ve often thought that maybe a trip to a nudist beach or resort might help.
I’m pretty sure that, years ago, I bought into that perfect body image lie that our culture promotes with such vigor. The unspoken notion that we should be ashamed of our bodies and need to “fix” them if they aren’t happy, perky and attentive.
Maybe seeing other imperfect people might help.
But if I do go, anybody else interested? It could be a vacation of a lifetime. One you’ll never forget.
No matter how many pharmaceuticals you take.