Chapter 23 | In pursuit of a Bra

I bought my first bra when I was twelve.

I was wearing a tight fitting black top with white edges on the sleeves and my blossoming buds couldn't have been more obvious. 

Mama was perhaps too shy to acknowledge the fact that I needed to purchase a support system or she preferred to feign indifference. Either way, my breasts were making headway and I wasn't going to let them drive by without appropriate structure.

Our next scheduled grocery shopping trip was an opportune moment and I managed to convince Papa that letting me walk the mall with Miya wasn't going to result in any act of misdemeanour's. The only shop I knew well enough to navigate myself (and eleven year old Miya) through without summoning the Guards of suspicious twelve year old in pursuit of a bra, was Woolworths.

I helter sheltered amidst the aisles as if though Papa had Al-Qaeda wrapped around his baby finger and I would be found faster than Bin Laden could say: “Twin towers? Where?”

Eventually I found it. I had no idea what a first bra purchase entailed, whether A; B; and C was indicative of the level of progress I had made, like getting graded, but by my boobs? And the numbers weren't of any help either? 32, 34, 36? Was this the mathematical equivalent of the 2 x’s timetable which had somehow fast tracked to its 30’s?

I took the thing and placed it over my top, it looked like the right fit. I chose a simple white cotton bra, unsure of the rules and bra-gulations. As I neared the counter to pay for my purchase, I was hesitant. What if the lady behind the counter took note of my nervousness and called the Al-Qaeda forces waiting in anticipation. If she noticed she never made mention of it and I passed her the R20-00 I had saved up over months with as much nonchalance as I could feign. I must have looked like an addict sliding wads of cash with fervent side way glances into the hand of his dealer.

Fifteen minutes later we walked out of the store, feeling like we had accomplished much.

A week later I told Mama. I had a very open relationship with Mama and hiding this from her was a secret even my new bra couldn't contain.

Me: ‘Mama, there’s uhm, there’s something I need to tell you.’

Mama (looking slightly apprehensive): ‘What is it?”

Me (confidence wavering): ‘I bought something.’

Mama: ‘What? A music CD?’

I wanted to laugh. Considering that we weren't allowed to listen to music I thought that was a fair guess on Mama’s part.

Me: ‘No. something else.’

Mama: ‘A bra.'

I blushed, ‘Yes.’

Mama: “Oh! I had kept some for you.”

She pulled out a bag from on top of her cupboard, opened it and handed me two bra’s. One was an almost silver grey and the other, skin tone. They both had lace on the uppermost part and a little button in their respective colours in the middle.

Mama had kept them for me all this while? I beamed with happiness. Fine, so she might have not mastered the art of speaking bra with her daughter but Mama was thoughtful. I’d take that any day.

Authors note: Experienced any hilarious puberty woes? Share your story with us (adding a humorous edge to it) and it could get published on Dodging Dad.