Day Nineteen: Key to Supermarket Happiness, Go Bra-less

I am not exactly what one might call an exhibitionist in the traditional sense. I'm not opposed to a little public play, but I am not often found participating in public displays of affection. I absolutely never flash anyone, not now that gravity is setting in, nor when I was younger and . . . well, springier. So you can safely assume that I covet the use of foundation garments up top. Don't get me wrong, I flash all kinds of cleavage. I have more low cut tops than Dolly Parton, but in the end the girls stay safely tucked away in the top and a fairly supportive underwire.

Every so often, however, I will forego said underwire foundation when I am at home working around the house or studying. It's not exactly comfortable to cage those things 24/7 so the occasional day off is refreshing. Today was just such a day and all was going well until I needed to make a run to the grocery. At this point I was in a soft, comfy turtleneck and open cardigan and the idea of taking it all off to don a boulder holder just to run to the store didn't appeal, so I went without. I didn't think it would be that major of an ordeal. I just went for bananas and juice to make a smoothie. I might have underestimated the trauma and/or judgment such an undertaking would cause.

I arrived at the store within ten minutes, parked in the first spot I found, which happened to be toward the back and made the trek to the store. It was cold outside. It was a bit windy outside. The cardigan was open and the girls were at attention. These are not conscious thoughts running through my mind at the time, but they became apparent enough within minutes of entering the store. In the produce section, a woman actually grabbed her child and pulled her into her own bosom, shielding her face away from mine. She also audibly gasped. GASPED! As if I'd walked in with an AK47 instead of attentive boobs.

I admit, it took me a few moments to gather what exactly was happening, but after gathering my bananas (I realize melons would be more apropos here, but I'm trying to stick to realism) I turned the corner and literally ran into a gentleman in a suit. He apologized directly to unsheathed offenders. Unsheathed of course only in terms of foundation support, still wearing a turtleneck, not a tank top, not a v-neck, but a freaking turtleneck.

Am I now such a pariah of society that merely going sans bra for a fruit run is enough to make children cry and men leave their wives? Oh I forgot that part, the dude in the suit, was with a women in workout gear. Clearly the lovebirds met post work for one and yoga for the other and the breasts popped up and threatened everything they'd built together . . . or, not so much. They're just boobs people. Yes, they are pretty freakin' fantastic these days, but the mere outline of them shouldn't be enough to cause a stir at the grocery. Add to that the fact that I was trying to cover them up with the cardigan as I walked, but clearly a few shadowy glimpses sneaked past. Still, it's not like I was topless or jogging.

Maybe it's because I'm in the conservative south or maybe it's because the girls were extra cold and animated, I have no idea, but if something so benign can cause such a stir, there is a problem in the world.

Finally, there was the checkout experience. I'm not going to lie, it wasn't pretty. People were not friendly, no one asked how I was. Annoyingly pointless conversation with the cashier did not occur as per the usual southern experience. I got a few looks of scorn, a whisper that I swear said something about "unacceptable and inappropriate" blah, blah, but no friendly banter or prolonged check out experience. It was, quite honestly, the best experience I've had trying to check out since I moved here two years ago. Finally, I could simply buy my groceries without the polite banter and "God bless you's" that usually accompany the experience. I may never wear a bra to the store again if only for the luxury of getting in and out without having to talk to everyone and smile pretty like. I fear for the children, but the girls and I will be happy.