Shopping for Bras as an Adult, With My Dad in Tow

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On a family vacation with my younger sister, Lily, I found myself sorting laundry—her family’s mixed in with mine. “Do you have a beige bra?” I asked.

“Definitely not!” she replied, laughter in her voice. “I’m not an old lady.”

I defended my choice: “Hey, I actually own the same bras you do—I got that push-up style you recommended.”

“In beige?” she giggled.

I was quick to justify: “Beige goes with everything!” I tossed the bra onto my pile of clothes: jeans, t-shirts, khaki shorts, and, well, some frumpy underwear.

In the dim corner of my closet, the remnants of my pre-kids and pre-forty life still hang there. The sleek gold tank dress I bought for a trip to Bali, when I wore less clothing and slathered on DEET. The green wool skirt that my tailor raved about, before he protectively tsked over the hemline. “A little higher,” I haggled, and he sighed, “Ah, my girl.”

Though those clothes may no longer fit—my body or my life—I can still treat myself to nice underwear. I ordered a few bras online from the Gap Body store. They arrived stuffed with stiff tissue-paper cups to maintain their shape. My husband, Tom, jokingly tossed one of the cups at me, saying, “Aren’t you supposed to leave those in?”

The bras fit adequately, but they were still pretty basic. I decided to exchange them for some colorful options, but they ended up sitting in my closet until I finally got to the mall—just in time for a visit from my dad, who insisted on tagging along.

“I need to return a bra and grab some new underwear,” I stated plainly as he rode shotgun with me. “Do you have any errands?”

He shrugged. “I’ll just come with you.”

Divorced for thirty years and on the brink of retiring from the business he dedicated his life to, my dad is a man of faith, often found with rosary beads and prayer cards of Pope John Paul II in his pocket.

My parents, both Irish Catholics, married young and had seven kids before splitting when I was ten. I would visit him on alternate weekends, sliding my pajamas and a change of clothes into my sleeping bag, and when I began wearing a bra, I shoved it in deeper—probably alongside my well-worn copy of Forever.

Bras were a nod to my blossoming femininity and sexuality. We talked about many things as I grew up, but bras were never one of them. Up until now, I was certain my dad had never had to shop for them.

But I was a grown woman now, married with two kids. He didn’t seem fazed. So why was I?

At the mall, he followed me into Gap Body, trailing behind as I navigated through displays of silk and lace. “It’s just The Gap,” I reassured myself, but my dad’s face was already turning crimson. I had picked out a style online, so when a young sales associate appeared and chirped, “Can I help you?” I opted for efficiency.

“I’m looking for the satin hipster,” I murmured, but he was too enthusiastic to hear me. “Thong or panties?” he boomed.

“Just—the panties,” I said, avoiding my dad’s gaze.

The associate led me through the store, my father following with a blank stare.

With a flourish, the young man waved over the display table. “Low-rise! Ultra low-rise!”

I scanned the options: white, gray, beige. My sister’s voice echoed in my head. “Do you have anything more interesting in back?”

“We don’t,” he replied, smiling apologetically. “Were you hoping for lace?”

“Um, maybe something with a pattern?” I felt my dad shift uncomfortably next to me. “You know what, it’s fine. I’ll just order them online,” I said. “But I do have a bra to return.”

The associate took the bra to the register, lifting it high. “Cinnamon red! Ultra plunge,” he exclaimed.

I stole a glance at my dad, who pretended not to notice. He gestured toward the exit and finally stepped outside to wait.

After a quiet ride home, he broke the silence. “You must be getting back at me for all those times I embarrassed you as a kid.”

At dinner, Tom asked how our day went.

“My daughter took me to the unmentionables store,” my dad said. “With all the women’s underwear!”

“It was just The Gap!” I protested.

Tom nodded in sympathy, and my dad shot me a familiar frown. Reduced to the role of a defiant child, I did the only thing I could think of: blame my sister.

In the end, we all have our awkward moments, especially when it comes to navigating adulthood and family dynamics. Sometimes, a little humor and understanding can help lighten the load. If you’re looking for more about the journey of parenthood, check out this fantastic resource on artificial insemination, as it provides valuable insights into starting a family.

Summary:

This light-hearted narrative follows Jessica’s comedic and slightly awkward experience shopping for bras with her father in tow. As they navigate the mall, Jessica reflects on her childhood, the evolution of her relationship with her dad, and the challenges of adulthood. The story highlights the humor in uncomfortable situations and the bonds that persist through them.