A Hesitant Helper

To share or not to share? That is the question.

This may leave some of you aghast and worried for my sanity. This will likely have my mother running to the nearest Vanity Fair outlet for fear of her daughter's reputation bringing down the family. Or sharing my story could bring to light the plight of desperate housewives everywhere, and inspire those more timid souls to push beyond their comfort zones, grab their spectacles and help a harried heart.

With that lengthy preface, I have decided share.

3:30pm, Sunday afternoon.

I had a window of time to make a quick and necessary Costco and Target run.

Ok.

The Costco was necessary. The Target was more...not.

I take that back. Target was necessary, because Wal-Mart just does not come close to the chic-ness and overall coolness of Target. And when a trip to Victoria's Secret is out of the question both in terms of time and finance...Target will win out over all other options every time.

This brings me to the Lingerie section where, at 3:38pm, I was perusing the packages of Hanes undies (i know. feel sad for me. I now buy my unmentionables in bulk) and it occurred to me that I am down to 1 decent bra, and even that one has a wire that pokes it's steel head through it's casing now and again. But, shoot! I have no idea what size that bra is...and I'm wearing it!

I so rarely get out alone like this, and I really would rather not endure another week of being poked and prodded in the chest by my underwire gone wry.

Golly, gee whiz.

What to do? What to do??

Hmmmm....

My eyes furtively scan the aisle for a friendly looking female Target worker...a perky Sanguine one preferably who wouldn't think twice of doing what needed to be done. There was nary a one of those to be found.

Only a tired looking, portly, short haired lady, with a McDonald's cup in one hand and her own package of panties in the other. Originally, I had seen her, but immediately dismissed as I could tell by the way her head was burrowed into her coat collar that she was not one for social interaction with a stranger, but desperate times call for desperate measures. As she turned and started to head out of the area, I saw my chances of enjoying poke-free living slip away.

"Ma'm!....Ma'm"

She hesitantly turns around to half face me, uncertainty on her face.

It's not looking good. But I take the leap, without the time to figure how just how to word my request to this already-reluctant stranger.

{with big, apologetic smile and hushed voice} "I realize this may seem quite odd, but I was wondering if you could help me out? I desperately need a new bra, but have no idea what size I wear. If I lift my shirt up, could you just quick turn over my bra strap and tell me what it says".

Yes. I believe that's exactly how it came out.

Her neck jolted back like she had just been slapped and a look of wary disbelief shot across her face. I was loosing her!

And still no sight of another human being!!! I couldn't let up.

"No, really, here..."

And I proceed to (at lightening speed) wrench my arm around my back and up my shirt to pull down the wide girth of the back of my bra as to create as little embarrassment (and skin) as possible to this stunned lady in front of me. I turn around and say "Here, can you see what it says?".

With an air of resigned, but still uncomfortable, courtesy, she reads the pitiful numbers and letters. {"Things" sure change after children/breastfeeding. Can we say "Tube Socks with a Golf ball swinging at the bottom"?!?!}.

I thanked her profusely, quickly spewing out something about having 6 children and never getting out. She was probably thinks 'No kidding'!!! as she quickly shuffles away, probably in stark fear that I also forgot my pantie measurements.

I picked out my plain white, correct sized, "Ultimate Comfort" over-the-shoulder golf ball holder" and proceeded to see if they had those cute paper plates I wanted, thankful that the ordeal was over ... but not nearly as grateful as the portly little lady who probably had other things to buy, but in her panic simply left with an empty cup of soda and a new package of Hane's panties.

Happy Monday!

I hope you find some joy in it, as my one little girl did who was wearing one of those uneccessary but irresistable Target Dollar Bin purchases: The Polka Dot sunglasses (and a fluffy skirt from Costco).