Now That Is A Scary Thought

Last year, whenever I had to remember how old I am, my first thought would always be: twenty-five. I kept thinking I was twenty-five, but I wasn't.

Not yet, anyway.

Yesterday, I was shopping at the ladies' 'unmentionables' (I love how quaint and faintly embarassed it sounds) department, looking to buy a couple of new sets of lingerie.

I wandered to and fro, looking for something that would catch my eye, taking my time deliberating on the choice of prints, straps, styles, and cuts. When I finally compromised (I could never find the exact prints/straps/styles/cuts I have in mind) and picked two sets which were sort of cute - not cute as in Disney-fied cutesy-wutesy, but cute as in ... adorable yet not cloyingly sweet.

The sales assistant, who had very patiently pointed out the sets which she thought I would like, asked for my size. For reasons only Goddess was privy to, I told her it was 75B. Accordingly, she fetched the sets I wanted, in the size I wanted. As I was about to pay for them, she asked, "Don't you want to try them?"

"Oh, no," I told her, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep my face from twitching into a grimace. I hate having to try clothes (especially lingerie and swim-wear) on for size; I prefer doing it in the comfort of my own room.

Which I did, when I got home. I tried one brassiere and found it worryingly tight.

Fuck, I thought, are they making smaller B-cups these days or is it the cutting? Or - oh gawd - have I put on that much weight?

I stared at the mirror, wondering why the brassiere was making me look like I've exchanged tits with some Baywatch chick, with runneth-over cups and the cleavage I wish I had and all.

Then it struck me: I'm not a 75B. I used to be, but that was when I still fitted into a school skirt with a 24" waist.

And first thing next week, I'm gonna have to go back and exchange my two sets.

I think, as a female, misremembering your age as one that is older - that's cause for concern; but when you misremember your bra size as one that is smaller (personally, I blame the size conversions - I'm not used to the international system), you've got a problem, sister.

And especially when your paternal Grams had Alzheimer's ...

Now that is a scary thought.

I'm gonna buy an identity bracelet and put my name, address, and my parents' contact numbers on it - just in case ...