Thursday, August 02, 2007

Petite

Meg works at a summer day camp.

Max and Paige have never been to summer camp.

It made sense for Max and Paige to stay with my parents last week, hitch a ride with Meg to camp, and participate that a quintessential rite of childhood summertime. The kids had a blast, running around like little maniacs, making friends by the busload, singing songs and playing games and sliding down an enormous slip ‘n’ slide. Camp was exhaustingly fun – Max would fall asleep on the drive home every day.

For a week, they got to be normal kids. Without a mom addicted to prescription painkillers. Without a dad whose car was recently repossessed.

They shared my bedroom, fighting about who got to sleep on the top bunk and who would be relegated to the bottom. (The compromise, of course, was switching every day.)

I missed out on all of the summer camp excitement. The kids were gone by the time I got to Mom and Dad’s on Friday afternoon.

Their overnight bags were sitting at the front door, waiting for my uncle to pick them up on his way home. There was another bag – just a standard plastic bag – sitting on the kitchen counter. I dug through it, trying to figure out if the clothes inside belonged to the kids.

One of the first items I came across was a pale pink bra.

I own a pale pink bra. It is one of the few bras that I own that isn’t a Wonderbra. Mom bought it for me at Victoria’s Secret this winter.

While the color of the bra matched, the fabric seemed different than I recalled my Victoria’s Secret to be made of. I pulled it out of the bag to investigate, seeking out the tag to confirm.

I saw the size first. 34-A. My size. It must be my bra.

Oh. Wait. I don’t own any bras by Maidenform GIRLS.

My 10-year-old cousin wears the same size bra as me. Gah.

1 comments:

L said...

I'm the same bra size and I feel your pain. It's been hard to watch my little sister (6 yrs younger) grow bigger boobs than me. I'm so jealous of her cleavage, hehe.

 
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