Pillow Talk

My husband and I were curled in bed together early yesterday morning. Breakfast was made so was lunch and we had a rare moment of quite time together. We snuggled under the blankets while Jacob, our youngest, finished getting ready for school. (((long sigh))) Ahhhhh....My husband whispers sweetly to me, "Babe...You need to be more careful about where you leave your bras." "What!!??", I respond- seriously disappointed and confused. "What type of danger are my bras in?" "You have to be considered of the boys." Oh, I see, my braaas are hurting my boys.

I was not graced with enormous breast, so I know my family has not been tripping over a bra that may have been dropped on the floor while in transport from the laundry room to the living room. "Babe, what are you talking about?" My husband informs me that our boys are no longer babies and are now hormonal teenagers. In his weak attempt to delicately explain himself, he whispers, "You can't leave them lying around any more." Are you kidding me!!?? It's just an undergarment. Apparently, following my shower the night before as I was carrying out the laundry from the bathroom, one of my innocent little strappy things had slipped out of the bundle and had somehow nestled itself into the towel basket. This conversation was sparked when my observant husband spotted the wicked bra caressing the towels in our bathroom earlier in the morning.

Through the years, my boys have helped me wash, dry, fold the family laundry. They have seen my undergarments all their lives and somehow, now that they are older, it has become taboo. It's not as though I am prancing around the house in my undies alone. I'm not completely naive- I know our boys are no longer babies. Yet, I fail to understand my husband's logic.

For goodness sakes, it's just a bra... *rolls eyes* (shesh man, get over it) ......or is it? Reflecting back some many years ago, I recall watching a segment on some talk show about the dubious bra. The story took the viewers to a boutique in France. It was then when I learned that the bra is not just a bra, (in a French accent) it is a  brassier. The boutique's owner describe the brassier as a delicate work of art that enhances the beauty of a woman's breast. Sounds great to me, but for the most part the brassier has been utilitarian. I would be very happy not to wear the little torture device as many other women do in other parts of the world. At other times, I am grateful for the lift it gives my thirty something breast.

My husband and I agree that the human mind conditions itself to its environment. If my brassieres are kept hidden from the eyes of my babies teen age boys, then I will be conditioning them to perceive my bras as taboo. They would in turn be overly stimulated by the sight of a brassier. This all seems rather ridiculous to me. I turn to my husband and sweetly whisper back to him, "Babe, it's just a bra."