Hi, my name is Janice Seagraves. I’m a romance author. I want to thank Faith for allowing me this opportunity to post on the 4SW blog.
The other day my daughter and I went bra shopping with my husband and her boyfriend in tow. For women readers, I’m sure you’re very familiar with bra shopping. Have you ever gone shopping with the man in your life?
Yeah, that’s an experience, isn’t it?
My hubby usually vacates the area, fast. He says he’ll shop for manly things like jockeys, while I’m occupied with my feminine stuff. This time he did the usual, and you could hear him peeling out as his shoes made black marks on the tile at J.C. Penny’s.
After raising an eyebrow at her father’s quick exit, my daughter asked what she could get.
I pointed out the sale sign. Buy one bra and get the second one for half off. “Get two.”
My daughter found two bras.
“Try them on.”
“You still might have changed since then. After all, you did just lose weight,” I told her.d. “But these are the same ones I got last time.”
Daughter returned from the changing room, only to put the bras back. “I got bigger.” She hung her head.
I stared at her a moment. My daughter is the only woman I know who can simultaneously lose weight and get bigger boobs. How is that even possible?
“Then find the next size,” I said as I continued the search for my bra size.
I glanced at daughter’s BF. He kept his face impassive, but his eyes danced.
“I’m surprised you’re not doing cartwheels right through the middle of this store,” I told him.
BF grinned. “Oh, I keep that sort of thing to myself. But my inner pervert is doing cartwheels and flips on the monkey bars.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” I s
hook my head. What is it with cup sizes and men?
I made my own selections and went to the changing room. After struggling with my new shirt, which I discovered too late was hard to get off, and found that I had grabbed the wrong size bra. “What the heck. What size am I?” I looked at the tag on my bra from home, 44DD.
Redressing, I went back out and looked for a 44DD.
My daughter found the right size bra, tried it on, and came back, but I was still looking.
“These fit. Can I have panties too?” she asked.
“Sure, if there’s a sale.”
“Okay.” I kept looking.
My husband bought his jockeys and came strolling back...and I’m still looking.
I put back yet another bra I can’t wear. By this time I’d reached the end of the bra section and the end of my rope.
“This is so not fair. I find all kinds of 42DDs and even a few of the 42DDDs, but not one single 44DD,” I wailed. Yeah, I’m loud when I’m upset and I don’t care who knows it.
At that moment, a saleswoman showed up as if she sprung out of the floor. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
While I was telling her my problem, loudly, my husband started to smile.
The saleswoman lookd me straight in the eyes and asked, “Are you sure that’s your size? Have you tried a 42DD?”
I gritted my teeth. “I just had on a 42DD and my cup was running over like this.” I mimed my molded over breasts with both hands. I glanced at my hubby and my daughter’s BF. “Sorry guys. I didn’t mean to be so graphic.”
“Oh, no problem at all.” My husband grinned from ear to ear and bounced on the balls of his feet.
My daughter yelled him. “Dad, stop smiling. It’s scary.”
My daughter’s BF whispered, “Your dad’s a pervert.”
Meanwhile the saleslady asked me, “Have you ever tried an extender?”
“Huh?” I stare at her like she had just grown two heads. What good would that do?
“A lot of women wear an extender on their bras. It really helps them,” she plowed on.
Hands on hips, I leaned toward the smaller woman. “Look, lady, if you haven’t noticed I’m a large woman. I need a 44DD, anything smaller just won’t do.” Was the woman even looking at the size of my tits?
The woman didn’t even blink at my outburst. “But an extender would—”
I let out a dramatic sigh. God, I really hate pushy sales people. “No, extender. It just wouldn’t work.”
My daughter reaches past me. “Here’s one. 44DD right?” She handed me a black bra.
“Well, hell. I was standing right next to it.” In the space of a minute we found two more.
I looked one over. “Oh, this is a pretty bra. And it’ll give me lots of support, too.” You don’t always find support and prettiness in the same bra when you’re my size.
My husband looked even happier, if that’s possible. “Support is good.”
BF shook his head. “Dirty old man.”
I went to the changing room and tried on the bra. It fit. It was supportive and pretty. I imagined angels were rejoicing in heaven. Hallelujah.
And then my daughter thrust a bra through the door at me. “Look, I found another one.”
“Yay, now I get the sale rate. Buy one, second half off.” I danced a jig as the angels in heaven launch into another louder chorus—Halle-lu-jah!
At the cash register, while I made small talk with the cashier, my daughter’s BF sidled up to me and whispered in my ear, “I hate to tell you this, but your husband is doing perverted things to the bras.”
“What?” I jerked my head toward my husband. His cheesy grin was still in place as he strolled down the center aisle. “What did he do?”
“He felt up the bras. He told me that you compliment the bra, ‘Silky’, and when your woman was in them, you use both hands, ‘Nice’. BF mimed what my husband did.
“Oh, good grief. The man will be the death of me yet.” Good thing I don’t get embarrassed easy. My mother would have been mortified.
I paid for our things, and my daughter picked up the bag. My husband joined us, and we headed out.
As we passed a manikin wearing a bra-and-panty set that show half its white plastic ass, my husband whipped his hand out, slapping it on the butt.
My mouth dropped open. “What did you just do?”
“It was presenting.” He grinned back at me. “What else was I supposed to do?”
“Uh, not hit the dummy on the ass would have been my choice.”
BF said, “See, he’s a big pervert.”
My daughter muttered, “Maybe you should hit him, mom.”
“Wouldn’t do any good.” I shrugged. “What is it with men and bra shopping anyway?”
“It brings out the inner pervert,” BF said. “That’s my theory, anyway.”
“I think you might be right.” We followed my smug husband back into wilds of the shopping mall.
Janice Seagraves grew up in a small California town. Her home is a hundred year old haunted house (she’s not kidding), where she lives with her husband and daughter, four overly affectionate cats (yeah, they have more), and a pet pigeon that is in love with her husband (also not kidding).
The writing bug hit her late at around twenty. However her art always drew her away from the characters in her head. After being diagnosed with tendonitis she found doing artwork painful, but she could still type and at last she turned her full attention to writing.
Her first book, Windswept Shores, is available through Pink Petal books.
Windswept Shores by Janice Seagraves
Cover Contest Winner
erotic contemporary romance
novel (approx 50K)
Cover Art by Pink Petal Books with assistance from Winterheart Design
The sole survivor of a plane crash, Megan is alone on a deserted island in the Bahamas until she finds a nearly-drowned man washed up on shore. Another survivor, this time from a boat wreck. With only meager survival skills between them, will they survive and can they find love?
Windswept Shores: http://pinkpetalbooks.com/Windswept-Shores-Janice-Seagraves.html
You can find Janice on her website: http://janiceseagraves.org/
And her blog: http://ladyjanice.blogspot.com/