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Only me

It could only happen to me!  Who else has a “brassiere emergency” on their way out to have a few beers???  I mean, really!

The day started out fine. I was asleep. Then the damn alarm clock went off at 0520 and it started going downhill. Sunday is my normal day off, but several weeks ago, I agreed to work a 7-3p shift for a co-worker. No problem, Paul had to work anyway and it never hurts to help someone out – I never know when I’ll be the one needing a favor. So OK, I can deal with getting up at the ass-crack of dawn and trying to fake intelligence at 7am.

It was about 3 weeks later that I realized I had agreed to work on RACE SUNDAY !!!! I must have been out of my mind. I DO NOT go out on RACE SUNDAY! Only a fool would go out, and then try to get back in on Race Sunday. But I had already agreed to it.

So half way to work this morning, I notice that my thumb is bleeding!  What the hell??  Had no idea what I’d done. Washed it out at work and it looked like a knife cut ( I had cold cereal and coffee for breakfast. No knife needed there) or a nasty paper cut – and at 630am, I was not doing much paperwork. So I’ve got no idea how it happened.

And the location insures that I will rip it open 287 times every day for the next week or more. And every time I wash my hands, it’ll hurt and bust open again. And I’m left handed, so it’ll hurt every time I pick up a pen, and I’m on my way in to work, and hoping I don’t get blood all over my clothes. Day is sliding down hill already.

Not at work too long when I notice that something is poking me in the right boob. And it hurts. And I wiggle and move things around, and it’s worse. When I finally look, I realize that the fabric on the bra has split and the underwire is now an OUTwire and that’s the problem. And the damn thing is sharp!! So I try to push it back in and it won’t move. And I tried putting lots of tape over the end of it, hoping to keep it from stabbing me. Didn’t work well. Fell off. Made me madder. And then I’m starting to think that the sharp edge that’s stabbing me in the bosom may very well be the explanation for the cut finger. I probably was fiddling with it without even realizing I was doing it.

And this damn wire was annoying me all day. This picture is horrendously magnified. Damn thing was like a knife blade.

Back to Race Sunday. Husband and I both are working and getting off at 3pm, so we planned to go down to JP’s in Bowers for a few beers, dinner and a walk on the beach. And this damn brassiere was hurting so bad that I was ready to cancel except that I can’t go home because we can’t drive IN anywhere near the race track – after the race all lanes are OUTBOUND. So we can’t go home for hours, until the police open up the roads again. But I didn’t want to be annoyed and/or in pain most of the evening, either.

Rather than take 2 cars down to Bowers, I went to where Paul works and we took my car down, leaving his truck there. No sooner does he get the seat belt buckled when I announce that we’re going to Target because I have a Brassiere Emergency. Sadly Paul must be sufficiently used to my idiocy that he doesn’t bat an eyelash over this. I bought a new bra, ran into the ladies room for a “quick change” and was having a beer in Bowers in record time.


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