The Direction of Intention

Kerri and I do almost everything together which is ideal until we go to the department store to buy new bras. For me, it is a perilous undertaking. The ladies sneer at me the moment I step foot into the bra department. It is no-mans land. It is the place women go to escape the dude-o-sphere and deal with the baseline realities of womanhood. I’ve learned that, in this clear and present danger-zone, I have only two paths for survival: 1) try to disappear. On the surface, disappearing seems like a wise option since the aggression from other bra-shoppers is palpable and violence is a real possibility. However, I’ve learned from experience that I could become the invisible man, a tiny mouse, and they’d still know my exact location, they track my every step. The danger does not disappear even if I do.

The better option is #2: become the efficient executive assistant to my bra-shopping wife. Survival means keeping her organized through a very difficult and complex series of decisions, refiling the rejects, pulling options for consideration, bolstering her courage when she is overwhelmed, reinforcing her ideals of beauty when she launches into inevitable self-denigration. Slowly, I become the secret envy of every woman in the department. I know that beneath their disdain, they are wishing they, too, had a helpful witness to their travails, an executive assistant to make their task a wee-bit easier. I am careful to be all business and not to become cheerful. No matter how helpful, cheerful men in the bra department is a step-too-far.

I know I am safe when, after several minutes of following along, holding an armful of possible options, I say, “What about the Bali?” to which Kerri, knowing the danger I am in, replies, “No. I like the Warners.” And I say, “Right, Bali can be too fancy-schmancy.” For a brief moment the frowning mouths twitch into smiles and I know I will live to see another day.

To cement my survival I purposefully pick up the wrong bra and suggest, “What about this one?” Kerri takes the briefest of glances and says, “No. No underwire, remember?”

“Right!” I declare and add, “I always forget about the dangers of the underwire. I mean, who would think that was a good idea! Bras must be designed by men!” The angry shoppers look away to hide their amusement. I say to myself, but loud enough to be heard, “No underwire. Stay away from fancy-schmancy. Got it!”

read Kerri’s blog post about FANCY-SCHMANCY

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Filed under: Body, Merely A Thought Monday, Random, Uncategorized | Tagged: artistry, Bra, Bra shopping, danger zone, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, executive assistant, fancy-schmancy, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, story, studio melange, survival, the melange |