Le maudit Mo D.

crises

I haven't yet laundered my new iBra because I fear it. I fear its seamless foam-constructed titty-shaped technology might explode when it hits the water. Also, I haven't purchased Woolite since college and the instructions, extremely explicit as they are, require me to use a designated, state-approved lingerie wash. I declined the nice Nordstrom lady's offer to allow me to pay $15 for a small bottle of soap I could get for $3 at the less posh supermarket. She sure was nice though.

My mom and I, once upon a time, discussed opening a mother-and-daughter bra shop, doing our part to end mammary oppression in our little corner of the world. I think at the time I was rooting for it to be in Portland. We could measure ladies chests and recommend nice, well-fitting brassieres to them, and with an 80-110% markup, we could make a tidy profit and invest in real estate. It's a sound business model.

But honestly, we're not retail folk. And we'd probably get on each other's nerves.

I've been edgy and grumpy lately. Blerg.