Howzit, Bra?!

Ron Nagasawa
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Wednesday - June 10, 2009
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One of the easiest ways to know you’re growing older is by the landmarks your children present as they grow up. It starts pretty slow initially: their first words, their first steps, and their first toilet “potty.” Then it accelerates to neck-breaking speed: cell phones, boy or girlfriends, rebellion.

In this case, I’m talking about our 12-year-old daughter. She is still my baby, and as far as I’m concerned, she can do no wrong. Still, she is rapidly approaching those teen years both mentally and physically, and I’m starting to panic.

Let me premise this by explaining that if my wife has one habit that somewhat annoys me, it’s that she tends to leave her bras lying around in the bedroom, bathroom and sometimes in the living room. I guess I’m just worried that someone will come to the house and see my wife’s undergarments. Don’t get me wrong, she is a very neat person and keeps our house immaculate.

Well, one day I came home from work and draped across our couch was a bra, but one of different proportions and style. I didn’t think twice about it until I pointed it out to my wife. She simply replied, “That’s your daughter’s.” I think I screamed for a good five minutes before coming to my senses.

After the initial shock wore off, I accepted the fact that she was becoming a young woman. What I couldn’t accept in the months following was that she had picked up her mother’s habit of leaving her bras all around the house.

That basically doubled my problem, and then it started feeling like everywhere I went in my home, I was staring directly at someone’s discarded bra. Recently, unable to stand it anymore, I made it an issue with the two females in our house. They just laughed at me and told me to get over it.

Then one evening my in-laws came over. They are at our house quite frequently and sometimes leave late in the evening. Since they have a long drive home, my mother-in-law sometimes bathes before leaving so she can go right to bed when she returns home. After they left, I went into the guest bathroom. When I closed the door, I saw on the clothes hook a bra that could only be described as not my wife’s or daughter’s because of its “unique” size. That’s right, my mother-in-law forgot her bra.

I intended on reporting it to my wife, but first had to burn my eyes out with a red-hot fire poker.

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