The Gospel of the Bra
It went missing. “THE” bra. Every woman knows and pretty much every spouse of a woman knows, even her gay best friend knows (yes he has seen her in her skivvies) that there is one bra she prefers over all others. “THE” bra. The one that doesn’t pinch or gouge or leave nasty dents in her rib cage. There are lots of bras in her possession but only one that will do for everyday wear. This is the gospel of bras.
I have such a bra and not too long ago it went missing. Missing as in I tossed every drawer, checked and rechecked the laundry hamper. I rotated the dryer drum on the off chance it was somehow there, clinging just out of sight. I looked and looked to no avail. “THE” bra was gone.
I live alone and at sixty-two years of age, I am certainly not engaging in any activities that could lead my bra astray. For the record, one does not take “THE” bra out for a walk on the wild side. In theory, there is a lacy number for that or maybe something satiny with a bit of peek–a–boo (or boob if you will), or at the very least an intimate garment which is not beige. “THE” bra is there to take the dog out for a walk, water the orchids or wash the car. I have on occasion tossed “THE” bra toward a drawer in the bedroom, but that is pretty much the extent of my bra tossing.
It was simply missing
And so the bra joined a long list of items that have slipped from my grasp in the last few years. I lose things … reading glasses, bookmarkers, car keys, salad tongs, endless single socks, and recently two bathing suits (no idea where I left them) to name a few. Plus of course my train of thought on a fairly regular basis.
Where do these things go? Why am I in the kitchen? What was I supposed to do this afternoon? Did I take my thyroid medication? I gave the dog her wet food … but did I add the chow? (The dog’s answer to this question is consistently “No you didn’t. I need chow.. More chow please.. You forgot chow!” Though she is entirely untrustworthy in the area of food consumption. She will lie like a … well … a dog … or is it a rug? a dog on a rug?
Most of us “plus-aged” folk ask ourselves questions like these on a fairly regular basis. I am truly grateful to my friends who admit to doing so, because it is good to know that this experience is not unique to me. It is a part of getting older, up there, on with it. We know for instance that one should not start to watch a movie or read a new book after a certain time of night, because we will have to watch it or read it all over again the next day.
Hypotheses abound as to why these short-term memory challenges occur. I am particularly fond of the theory which posits that in our dotage we have simply accumulated so much information our brains are wont to edit out thoughts and memories it does not consider useful. I am all for this idea except in the case of the missing car keys and also I want “THE” bra back.
One thing for sure about these small lapses is they come with the territory. We can take over-the-counter stimulants and memory boosters by the mitt-full and still we will age, still we will forget sometimes and still and all we are winning at this game of life. Our problems are a privilege because we are blessed to be here, blessed by our troubles and gifted by our sorrows as well as our joys.
On we go …
P. S. I recently found “THE” bra in the piano resting on the strings next to the treble keys. How it got there will forever be a mystery. I am learning to love a little mystery.