Any Excuse For Some Online Shopping

Remember this post? Where I theorized that the stinging, burning pain along my rib cage was caused by an allergic reaction to the metal in my bra?  Well, it got worse and was mostly on the left side, so I decided I was dying of pancreatic cancer (because hypochondria, of course).  I called a friend to tell her the bad news, and she convinced me that maybe it would be a good idea to get an opinion from someone who was actually, you know, a medical doctor; that is, one of those people who, unlike myself, have actually spent several years studying the human body and all that can go wrong with it.

My friend is sensible that way.

So, convinced that I was going to be handed a death sentence, I headed off to the medical center this morning, weeping a little inside at the thought of my 2 youngest having to grow up without me.  Poor motherless creatures! And let's not even talk about how haunted I felt by the thought of all the family photos I haven't sorted through yet.  The guilt was overwhelming.

My poor girls, after my demise.  I hope they can sing.

As it turns out, however, I'm not dying.  Yet.   The doctor said it just feels that way because I probably have shingles.  In my defense, the rash hasn't shown up yet, so it was hard to recognize.

I just looked up pictures of a shingles rash.  That was gross.  Don't do it.  Save yourselves.

Torture device, by Wacoal

You know, I have heard people talk about shingles and how painful it is, but I never really believed them. Of course, it doesn't help that this outbreak is focused precisely where my bra makes contact with my body, thus magnifying the pain, oh, about a hundredfold.  Why couldn't I get it around my waist, like other people? WHY? I would have had an excuse to lounge on the couch in comfy pajama pants for a few weeks, while eating Breyer's strawberry ice cream straight from the carton. Silver lining, right?

But no, my over-endowed self either has to go around bra-less (thereby traumatizing my teen boys no end) and risk getting my nipples caught in my pants zipper, or else I have to suck it up by fastening my bra and enduring the pain of a thousand knives under my breastbone.  Nice choice, right?


What I should do is go out and try to find something comfier and looser to hold up the girls - but that would involve putting on the torture bra and visiting umpteen dozen stores to find something that fits.  I just don't think I am physically capable of doing that right now.  Particularly since I am under the influence, as it were, of some nice drugs whose effects might render driving a tad dangerous.

She doesn't look like she's in pain.

Of course, there's always Amazon...they have everything, right? What do you think, will these (in XXL) do the trick? And isn't it a wonderful century we live in, where I could conceivably have a drone deliver brassieres to my door? I mean, it's like the Jetsons, only weirder.

Do you think Jane Jetson ever got shingles?













[Orphan image: Live Theater in MA and RI]
[Bra image: Linda, the Bra Lady]
[Jane Jetson image: The Jetson Wiki]