we take a break from our regularly scheduled program

If you are my brother, or heaven forbid, any male friend of mine reading this (if i have any), be warned this post discusses things of a feminine nature. You may want to move on to the next post...


As i was getting dressed this morning, and carefully selecting appropriate under attire to go with my white tee, I suddenly remembered another time when not selecting appropriate under attire got me into trouble.

Back in the day, I was a server at a certain restaurant chain that prided itself on it's "down on the farm cooking" and it's wholesome-ness. That's why they hired people like me...and people like my co-worker, the (ahem) dancer of an 'exotic nature' out on parole.

I was a newlywed at the time, prone to feeling young and sexy, which may or may not excuse the fact that my favorite 'supportive wear' was a light lilac thingy of a delicate nature. It blended well with my very fair skin. Wearing the white shirt, khaki pant, blue apron uniform to work was boring, so i liked to spice it up with my favorite bra. hey, I had a blue apron on in front of me, so you couldn't see it. And the back, well, I couldn't see it.



My exotic co-worker also found the wholesome uniform boring, so she liked to spice it up too, with something a little more apparent. The wholesome old men who would request her for a server seemed to appreciate the change as well, judging from her tips.


One day though, she took it too far, and an extremely wholesome customer complained to my boss. He complained to my co-worker, and she, being a forward thinking female, all about equality and such, complained about me. I was called into the office and told, very diplomatically what the dress code is and was given a paid break to go purchase a 'white bra' from the department store next door.

I hate white bras. So I set forth to find the brightest, whitest, most obnoxious looking bra in the store. I hit pay dirt when I found 'the cones'. This bra was a real winner, a throwback from the '50's, when all women thought their assets should resemble small traffic cones protruding from their chest. I gladly paid for and donned the eye searing cones, and went back to work.

yeah...i really showed them! (he! he! pun intended).

And 'the cones'? They were eventually banished after my husband strapped them around his eyes and ran around the house buzzing. I collapsed on the bed laughing and decided they had done their time.

"BUZZZZZ....BUZZZZZZZ..."