Response to Nora Ephron’s “Shaping Up Absurd: A Few Words About Breasts”
from Crazy Salad: Some Things About Women, NY: Knopf 1975, pp. 71-72.
(Note: Both her mother and my brother suggested band-aids.)
by Margo
Carmella’s blouse is so sheer. You can see her bra. And that tiny white flower between the cups means it’s not a training bra. I know these things. I’ve studied bras.
Mary Ann, the smartest girl in class, wears a bra slip over hers. She’s much more modest. The only thing you can see through her blouse are her straps—two on each shoulder.
Even Celeste, who’s shorter than me, wears a bra, and under an opaque blouse. Doesn’t anyone else? Oh, wait, Felicity. Ha! Ha! Felicity wears undershirts! And Josie!
When we got to remove the top part of our wool jumper, in fifth grade, I thought it meant that Adele would not faint from heat stroke at this year’s field trip to West Point. I thought wearing a pleated skirt and blouse meant that Cathy would not vomit like she did in second grade at the Bronx Zoo! I didn’t expect to be “the girl in the undershirt.” That’s not fair!
I’d been bugging Mom for a bra. And when she wouldn’t take the hint, I wrote in the steam on the bathroom mirror, “I think I have enough to wear a bra!” It was all about the straps. I wanted straps.
When I asked Mom what I needed to do to develop, she told me to “take care” of myself. The next time she went out, I went into the medicine cabinet and snuck two sprays of her underarm deodorant and one quick spray of her feminine hygiene deodorant to feel “clean, dry, and odor-free,” like the commercial said.
Once, I even took that purse-sized gift from Mom’s dresser and sang as I sprayed, “Every woman alive wants Chanel Number 5.” A beautiful blonde lady with a French accent advertised it. Boy, did I get in trouble. You know there’s not much in that little bottle, and I was wearing most of it. I gave myself a headache, and got sent to my room. (I didn’t want me in there.)
Taking care of myself did not work. I remained flat chested. “My little friend didn’t visit.” I did not get “unwell” or “become a lady,” like Mom said.
Dear diary, I have not become a lady…
Fortunately, I was able to talk Mom into buying me a bra at Woolworths. And since I measured 26 AAA and the smallest-sized bra in the store was 32 AA, Grandma took in three inches on each side. In between bouts of laughter. I enjoyed Grandma and Mom’s erupting laughter. It was the most fun I ever saw or heard them have together. I didn’t mind being the butt of their joke at all. Besides, I got a bra!
However, I did mind them laughing when my brother suggested I wear a band-aid. What does he know? It doesn’t concern him at all. But he was probably enjoying their erupting laughter, too.
Unfortunately, my two-strap dream died, when I was forbidden to wear a bra to school.
So, I started wearing a bra slip over my undershirt. One strap. On each shoulder. One strap. That no one noticed.
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(Alternate David Sedaris ending)
Although forbidden to wear a bra to school, I was allowed to wear one on weekends. So, If Mary Ann or Carmella were to ask me what I did over the weekend, I’d say, “Wore a bra. You?”
© Margo A Mertz
hearsthestory.com 