Just add knickers

It’s been a while since I mentioned bras. You know those things that women have to have. Yet it doesn’t matter what size we are, we all seem to have a great deal of trouble getting the right size. Take this well endowed women that writes before you. I’ve begun my march to fitness, again. After two months of self inflicted doldrums I’ve decided that if I have to fight my way out of the front door it might as well be for a good reason. And what better reason than getting fit’er. After all I’m fit enough for my age. A recent survey stated that if I can run for 60 seconds without getting out of breath, touch my toes and do 5 press ups then I’m a fit 50 something. So as I unravelled my funny bone from the inside of my knees, I stopped laughing long enough to realise that actually I’m not bad for an oversized over aged teenager.
However my wardrobe was lacking exercise clothes and so I ordered gym clothes and a bra. Yes I’m bigger than the last time I went training, and I know that I need a little bit more upholdage than the average woman, but I don’t have a large back. So I ordered what I considered to be the next size up from the last size. That discarded as soon as it was opened and tried I went to my local sportswear shop. Come on guys get a grip. Not one of the women in that gym this morning was younger than 60 and it would be fair to say that they were all endowed with ample proportions. So where are the bras.

At this point I apologise to Michelle. Fit hitch that she is. Tall, slim, pretty and less well endowed than many of us. Bet she doesn’t have any problem finding her perfect 32C sports bra.
She recognised my voice before she saw me, usual story, Have I mentioned that I’m a tad louder than the average kookaburra on heat in the mating season. But that wasn’t my concern, of all things that struck me was the lack of overlap. I mean how do you sit pretty on an inclined exercise bike, hardly sweating, with rosy red cheeks and not have the tummy overlap. All I could think of was, fit hitch. So when she started telling me how she walks a zillion miles everywhere I began to feel the unfit gene in me poke its head through the rose coloured lens of “I’m a fit 50’sh gym bunny.”

Luckily Michelle is one of the nicest people you could meet and although intensely jealous of her good looks, perfect hair and slim body, I still like her.

Back to my point, bras. I found one. Big black and bulky but functional. It holds all the bits in the right place and keeps them from breaking my kneecaps.

I want to ask a question, am I the only person who has a shower before they go to the gym? If there is one thing I can’t stand its turning up looking rough. Its just a thing of mine. Booked in for a ten o’clock induction I had to have a shower first thing. It’s that morning timetable thing. You know don’t disturb the husbands routine, or God help you. So there I was at 7am diving in the shower. Now I asked Mark to do one thing, should really have know better, all I asked was, could he bring me up a coffee. He didn’t even have to make it. It was in the pot on the table. Simple, pour, bring up stairs.
I showered, dried, and started to get dressed, still no coffee. Of course not, how stupid could I be. He had to be allowed to finish his first. How inconsiderate could I be?

So there I was overhanging, super scaffold strength sports bra firmly in place, trust me it took longer to put on than it did to think up that description. But without coffee. After all the pulling and pushing, twisting and turning. Doing up around the front, skin chafing tugging, baby powder sliding, fastener sliding to the rear, lifting unsupported body parts, one at a time, placing firmly into cups and wriggling. Swinging forward and shaking violently, taking little jumps to check suspension awareness and standing, still no coffee, which was sorely needed.

I stormed down stairs.

“I asked you to do one thing.” The temper wasn’t aimed at Mark, it was the frustration all women have when they are bound witless into an exercise friendly torture garment.

“I’m just…” I didn’t want an explanation, I just wanted a coffee.

I strutted to the table, poured out the still hot, (did I mention I’ve splashed out on an insulated cafetiere. Really posh) coffee.

I strode towards the dining room door. Trying to be the fitness Goddess the new bra should have afforded me.

“Erh… you wearing that to the Gym?” Mark asked.

“Yes, why.” The hackles spiked,what had he noticed about my new bra that I hadn’t?

He looked me up and down and grinned, “You might want to add some knickers to that ensemble before you go!”

I was not amused

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