My daughter has a friend named Pookie (name changed). Pookie is a wonderful girl, a good friend, and numerous other good things, but her recent claim to fame is that she located and purchased the perfect bra.
I don't know much about those kinds of things, so I really don't know how she did it. Dumb luck or careful searching, examination, and testing of the top-rated bras in America? I really can't answer that.
What I do know is that her bra was the talk for days, as in "Pookie had on the most beautiful bra" and "Let's go to Victoria's Secret and see if we can find Pookie's bra." What I do know is that when we were down in Atlanta a couple of weekends ago, my daughter visited to Victoria's Secret down there, couldn't find it, asked about it, and was outraged with the saleswoman would not go into the back to see if they had any. It must be quite a bra.
The additional, perhaps major, mystification for me, and I'm assuming for the other males reading this is, where did everyone see Pookie's bra? It's not like my daughter and her friends hang out in locker rooms at the Y or shower together or anything else. And not only my daughter knew about it. My wife and my other daughter were equally praiseful. Other friends who came over, too.
And that's where I get even more confused. No man has ever asked me where I got my underwear. I have never asked any man, either. I don't think I even knew to want to.
The perfect bra, I assume, is the union of freedom and form, of femininity and function. Why wouldn't women want to share their wisdom, their discoveries on the subject.
But men lack that kind of freedom. We cannot say to each other, "Hey, Bruce, I really like the way those grippers fit you. Where did you get them?"
Bruce: "I got them at Target. They were on sale. If you're thinking about going out to get some, let me know and I'll ride along. I can point out to you which ones fit me the best. They also have a great selection of both white and patterned."
And then a few weeks later, Bruce: "Wow, I see you took my advice. Those are so right for you."
"Yeah, I'm really proud of them. And they're so comfortable."
"I like the way they've designed that seam, too, don't you? It's much easier to pee."
"Much. Even one-handed."
"Man, I really like your Sponge Bob boxers. They look like they give you a lot of room to move."
"They sure do. Do you want to try them on?"
"No, thanks, Carl. I'm going to go get some of my own."
"You won't be sorry. Ask Scott. He has some, too. I saw them when we were dressing after tennis. He also complimented how airy they are, even while they're stylish."
"Then I'll be able to wear them when I go out to get the newspaper on Sunday mornings."
While I wish women success in their quest for the perfect bra, I might be a little bit jealous. Clearly, men, we live in very different worlds, ours being very restrictive for fear of being ridiculed, while our females are free to frolic and flaunt their frilly things with their friends and no one will give it a second thought. Where did we go wrong?