Tales from Down Under

Over winter break, there were a few days that I opted to take K to daycare so that I could spend some one-on-one time with R. K has what some might politely call a “strong” personality, and at times can dominate the focus of everyone in a room. It’s nice to be able to give R my undivided attention occasionally.

We found many things to do during our time together that would interest a 5-year-old boy, but that may not intrigue his 2-year-old sister. One day, after we spent the morning doing an R-centered activity, I needed to stop by Kohl’s to exchange a camisole that I got for Christmas to wear under a sweater.

R dreads nothing more than being dragged into a women’s clothing store, so I promised him it would be a short trip. Nonetheless, he complained all the way from the car to the door and from the door back to the lingerie department where Kohl’s keeps their camisoles.

I was busy looking for the size, color and style of camisole that I needed to exchange when I looked up and noticed that R was no longer standing beside me. Panicked, my eyes quickly scanned the area until I found him, three displays away, standing before a rack of very large brassieres. He had the same look of wonder in his eyes as the middle school boy I once caught with a copy of the J.C. Penney lingerie ad tucked into his Trapper Keeper at school.

Me: "R, you scared me. You need to stay right beside me. What are you doing?"

R: (So loudly, I actually looked to see if he was holding a bullhorn.) "What does D-D-D mean, Mom?"

Me: (Looking around to see who is overhearing this conversation, as I’m sure by now even the unliving have been awakened from their eternal sleep.) "It’s a size."

R: (To my horror, he now has his face buried in one cup of the DDD garment.) "Look Mom!" (Gleefully) "My whole head fits inside!"

I quickly rushed him away from the racks of bras, but couldn’t resist stopping at a bin of clearance underwear. (I like a good sale as much as the next gal.) As I picked up various garments and held them up by their elastic waistbands, I could feel R’s eyes watching me intently. A smarter woman would have cut her losses and run, but I’m a glutton for punishment.

R: (Enthusiastically) "Wow, Mom! Are you gonna launch those things across the aisle like a rubber band?!"

Moral of this story: R is now too old to accompany me on any trips that involve undergarments of any kind.