For the first time today since the surgery I put on a bra.
I love pretty underwear. Even when I wear cotton, it is coloured and/or has gay patterns Other sets are more lacy. It makes me uncomfortable not to have my bra match my panties, but then I'm the woman who needs all her bluebirds lined up on her cups and bowls.
I wear pretty underwear because it makes em feel feminine, not in case I'm in an accident and end up in the hospital.
My grandmother, a very, very proper Victorian lady, asked after months of dating if my future husband ever kissed me and when I said yes without going into details that I knew would shock her, asked "On the mouth?"
She told me I should wear clean underwear in case I ran into Rock Hudson. Fortunately she did not live to find out the truth about him, although I'm not sure she would have understood gay. I always wondered what made her think if Rock Hudson came to our New England Yankee village, how and when he would see my underwear. And since she never went downtown without hat and gloves even in the early sixties, why such an idea popped into her head in the first place will remain one of life's mysteries.
Today I selected one of my softest bras, pink, green, white and yellow striped. It felt totally normal and not binding. The lace edge starts exactly where the scar ends. If I were to show Rock Hudson he would never know I had surgery.
I don't see a reincarnated Rock Hudson showing up in Corsier Port to inspect my underwear. To update it, there's another actor who has been in the Geneva area often... George Clooney. Now if showed up in Corsier Port pretty bra... It would probably keep him out of Switzerland for the rest of his life, his contract to do Nespresso publicity not withstanding.