The BIG Coverup - the training bra

Remember the first time you had to cover up?

Pre-teen, looking at my flat chest, I remember wishing I had something to cover up.  When they start to grow, my mother looked at my mosquito bites, worried I had cancer and took me to the doctor.  (I did tell you I was a devout Catholic growing up)  The doctor smiled at us and explained, "She's growing breasts."  Before I could understand the humiliation, she took me home and announced to the family, "It's time to go and buy some bras."

I felt like I was walking to my execution, the department store with my MOM, and into the lingerie department.

She starts embarrassing me the moment we hit the top of the escalator,
"Honey, where do you think the young girl, I mean lady bras are?"
"Mom!"  I watch a cute boy go by wishing he hadn't heard that exchange.

To make it better, she adds to the embarrassment:

"Excuse me?"
Cashier, "Yes."

"My daughter is buying her first bra.  Can you recommend something for her body type."
Cashier looks at my skin and bones, "Umm, you may want to hit the training bras in that corner, size extra small."
Extra small?  Training bras? Really?
I stand there feeling humiliated until my Mom returns with a handful of bras, "Honey, I found the extra smalls."  I watch other girls walk by with their Moms, they laugh overhearing then give me the look of, "just endure it and you'll get the bras."

"Look at these cute little puppies, and I really like the American Flag ones," she says holding them up high as other people walk by.  I grab then and turn toward the dressing room, wishing this experience over, silently thinking, I kind of like the american flag one too - makes me feel patriotic.

My mother is following me to the dressing room.
"What are you doing?"  I ask.
"I need to make sure they fit you, you'll need my expertise," she answers.
"Mom, they are bras.  I think I know what I am doing."  I ask, praying I can do this by myself.
She walks into the fitting room with me, and sits on the bench waiting for me to try them on.  Guess this will prepare me for when I end up in prison, my life in the gutter from this one bra experience.

"Honey, does it fit?"
"Mom!"
"Lemme see...."  She runs her finger along the side, snaps it.
"Mom!"
"I think it's perfect."

We go to the cashier, and I endure my mother tearing up as she explains to the cashier and the lady waiting in line behind us that her little girl is growing up, and wearing TRAINING bras.  Then she looks at both of them and winks.

The boys in the class run their fingers down my back to see if I are wearing a training bra, and even if it's simply mosquito bites, I've got the bra on.  I'll never thank her, but secretly glad we took that time to help me become a "woman."

Remember your first training bra?  Did you buy it or did your mom?