Cootie Avoidance and the Art of Dress

There are many things in today's world from which to choose as a source of entertainment. For Tina and me one of the things we like to do is watch "What Not to Wear" on the learning channel, wherein the hosts take someone in desperate need of a well developed fashion sense and school them in the arts of proper dress. This schooling includes everything from the do's and don'ts of color matching, to how a pair of pants can flatter even the most unflattering figure. Earlier this week one of the "students" on the show was wearing a pair of pants that were held tightly in place by some overzealous elastic approximately 18 inches above her navel. To further the "look" she wore a standard brassiere that fit in a very non-standard way. The end result was that her top half and her bottom half appeared to be in the process of a continental collision somewhere in the vicinity of her 3rd rib. So, the hosts of the show politely talked her through the proper fit of ladies undergarments. Tina then commented, in an offhanded fashion, "I guess none of mine fit properly."

This weekend was Mothers Day. A day where children celebrate their Mothers and husbands sweat profusely at the prospect of having to explain that they didn't actually forget, they were simply busy preparing for Christmas. So it was that mere days before Mother's Day I was still considering real versus fake Christmas Trees and had yet to do anything tangible for this weekend. That's when fate stepped in in the form of a very poorly dressed woman in an ill fitting bra. This was my chance and I grabbed on with gusto. I proudly announced that we were going to the mall!

Once there I directed the family to the upper level and headed to Victoria's Secret. One of Victoria's secrets is that boys under 25 will melt if they go in the store. So the adults in the group fastened the kids to the rail outside the store and headed in to buy a brand new, properly fitting, extremely comfortable and fabulously attractive bra. Once done we headed out of the store and attempted to hand the bright pink gift bag to the boys. They of course were having none of it. After all, it was pink and probably had terminal cooties.

The next day was Mothers Day. We got ready for church and Tina donned her new bra and her old robe and worked feverishly to get the kids into dressing mode, with some success. At one point she approached Wyatt for who knows what and didn't notice that her bra was showing ever so slightly. Wyatt was very purposeful in his avoidance of eye to bra contact. Just looking at it might bring on who knows what kind of disease. So I jokingly asked why he was so embarrassed to which he replied, with emphasis on each letter, "I do not want to see her B-R-A-W-L."