My vest– which I have nicknamed The Pimp Vest– creates a suave clash with Shirt o’ the Day. The cherry on top of this get-up is my luau, yellow lab Bow Tie o’ the Day. The cleverest detail on Bow Tie is the use of coconut shells to create dog bacheechies. Dogs worship us, and they will do anything to please us. Even dogs printed on bow tie fabric are eager to do outlandish things to make us happy.
I’m sure at some point in your life, probably when you were watching GILLIGAN’S ISLAND in your kidhood, you and your pals mused about the old “lost on a deserted island” what-if. What five things would you want with you? Who would you like to be lost with? What would you most be glad to have left behind? And the conversation game questions go on.
Bow Tie’s coconut shells got me cogitating, and I’ll tell you right now that what I’d like to leave behind in the busy world is exactly what I’d need if I were building a new civilization on my own on a desert island. What thing of utmost importance would I need, but not want? I would need the dreaded, wretched, torture contraption known as a bra! Eeeeeeeek!!!!
You ladies know exactly what I’m talking about. Bras are not comfortable. I was once expertly fitted for a tailored bra. I was willing to pay a bigly fortune to wear a comfy bra. It did cost a bigly fortune, and it was quite becoming. It was not, however, anywhere near comfortable. I might as well have spent $12.95 on a too-stiff bra from Sears. Discomfort is discomfort.
Even on a deserted island though, it would be unspeakably dangerous of me to build a hut or cast a makeshift fishing pole while not wearing a bra. A person could get hurt. I could injure myself by moving too quickly. The phrase, “You’ll poke your eye out!” comes to mind.
Mom taught me well that a bra’s proper place is hanging from the doorknob on the back of the front door. A bra doesn’t belong on its owner, unless someone knocks on the door. Practice slipping it on without removing your shirt. Practice slipping it off the same way. When the bra is off you, and on the doorknob, keep an ear out for cars pulling up in the driveway. You especially have to watch out for that one pair of Home Teachers we had, who sometimes knocked an hour earlier than they were scheduled. Sometimes, you gotta be lickety-split swift puttin’ on that brassiere.
Mom taught me that the last place a bra belongs is around a woman’s chest. Make exceptions only when necessary, like when going to work, church, the grocery store, or when working out. Other than that, a good bra does nothing but hang silkily on the living room doorknob– causing discomfort to no one.