millimeters apart. My eyes widen from how close he is. The urge to rub my cheek against his short beard is overwhelming. The thought of having beard burn all over my body is tempting, and like the fool I am, I can feel the words on the tip of my tongue, asking him to motorboat me with his scruff.
I convince myself it’s the hot dog talking.
“I don’t, actually.” He leans over some more and takes a look at the button I’m having trouble with. Our bodies are practically tangled together as he fits his rather large physique over my legs and under the table so he can help.
“I really have this handled.”
“Doesn’t look like it. It looks like you’ve got your shirt stuck. Nice bra, by the way. I didn’t know you could still fit in a training bra.”
A horrified gasp escapes me. “It’s a sports bra!” I defend.
“Really?” His head turns sideways. “Looks like the one you got from the bra fairy that one Christmas.”
Yes, you heard that right. The bra fairy.
I love my mom dearly, God rest her soul, but there are few moments in a little girl’s life that she will forever remember…like getting her period, rubbing her body up and down a poster of her generation’s heart throb…and getting her first bra. My mom destroyed one of those moments for me. Can you guess which one?
Being the tomboy I was at the time, I wanted nothing to do with a bra. If Paul and Porter weren’t wearing one, then I didn’t want one. My mom had a different idea though.
One Christmas Eve, when I was in fifth grade, we were having a gathering of sorts at our house. Our grandparents were present, as well as our neighbors, and, of course, Porter. I spent the whole day playing football with the boys out in the pastures and when we got back to the house, there was one single present under the tree where the entire party was gathered. My mom clapped her hands together in glee at our return and told me there was a gift under the tree for me.
Being the present monger I was, I fell to my knees and grabbed it in excitement, ready to tear it open. The card read, “To Marley, From the Bra Fairy.”
As the words registered in my brain, the package flew to the ground and I refused to open it. My dad, being the protective husband that he was, told me in a stern, but kind voice to appease my mom, despite the message on the card. Reluctantly, I opened the present, pulled out a cotton pink training bra, and held it up for everyone to see. The audience proceeded to clap while my mom told them it was my first and then asked me to model it for everyone.
It was emotionally scarring. I went to bed that night asking Paul why he didn’t have to wear a bra. His excuse was he had a penis and he didn’t have boobs. The boy was a porker back then…a bra might have done him some good.
“You think you’re so funny…” my sentence is interrupted by the incredibly loud grumble of my intestines.
Porter, who is messing around with the button, stops what he’s doing and looks down at my stomach. “What was that?”
My stomach churns again and I instantly break out in a cold sweat.
“Must be hungry.” I pass his comment off with a shrug.
Meanwhile, my lip trembles while it feels like there is a mini zombie apocalypse taking over my intestines. My mouth waters, my ass instantly feels heavy, and I know what is about to happen to me isn’t a good thing.
“You ate two hot dogs and half a bag of chips.” He studies me with concern.
“Fast metabolism,” I squeak out. Before my eyes, I see my skin turn to a light grey color as I attempt to force myself to stop sweating.
I convince my body that I’m not hot, that I’m actually in a frozen tundra, watching penguins get it on with their little penguin penises and polar bears enjoying handies from one another. I try to laugh at the visual in my head, but all I can picture is the flesh eating monsters burning up a storm in my guts.
“You don’t look alright…”
“Just get the button
I convince myself it’s the hot dog talking.
“I don’t, actually.” He leans over some more and takes a look at the button I’m having trouble with. Our bodies are practically tangled together as he fits his rather large physique over my legs and under the table so he can help.
“I really have this handled.”
“Doesn’t look like it. It looks like you’ve got your shirt stuck. Nice bra, by the way. I didn’t know you could still fit in a training bra.”
A horrified gasp escapes me. “It’s a sports bra!” I defend.
“Really?” His head turns sideways. “Looks like the one you got from the bra fairy that one Christmas.”
Yes, you heard that right. The bra fairy.
I love my mom dearly, God rest her soul, but there are few moments in a little girl’s life that she will forever remember…like getting her period, rubbing her body up and down a poster of her generation’s heart throb…and getting her first bra. My mom destroyed one of those moments for me. Can you guess which one?
Being the tomboy I was at the time, I wanted nothing to do with a bra. If Paul and Porter weren’t wearing one, then I didn’t want one. My mom had a different idea though.
One Christmas Eve, when I was in fifth grade, we were having a gathering of sorts at our house. Our grandparents were present, as well as our neighbors, and, of course, Porter. I spent the whole day playing football with the boys out in the pastures and when we got back to the house, there was one single present under the tree where the entire party was gathered. My mom clapped her hands together in glee at our return and told me there was a gift under the tree for me.
Being the present monger I was, I fell to my knees and grabbed it in excitement, ready to tear it open. The card read, “To Marley, From the Bra Fairy.”
As the words registered in my brain, the package flew to the ground and I refused to open it. My dad, being the protective husband that he was, told me in a stern, but kind voice to appease my mom, despite the message on the card. Reluctantly, I opened the present, pulled out a cotton pink training bra, and held it up for everyone to see. The audience proceeded to clap while my mom told them it was my first and then asked me to model it for everyone.
It was emotionally scarring. I went to bed that night asking Paul why he didn’t have to wear a bra. His excuse was he had a penis and he didn’t have boobs. The boy was a porker back then…a bra might have done him some good.
“You think you’re so funny…” my sentence is interrupted by the incredibly loud grumble of my intestines.
Porter, who is messing around with the button, stops what he’s doing and looks down at my stomach. “What was that?”
My stomach churns again and I instantly break out in a cold sweat.
“Must be hungry.” I pass his comment off with a shrug.
Meanwhile, my lip trembles while it feels like there is a mini zombie apocalypse taking over my intestines. My mouth waters, my ass instantly feels heavy, and I know what is about to happen to me isn’t a good thing.
“You ate two hot dogs and half a bag of chips.” He studies me with concern.
“Fast metabolism,” I squeak out. Before my eyes, I see my skin turn to a light grey color as I attempt to force myself to stop sweating.
I convince my body that I’m not hot, that I’m actually in a frozen tundra, watching penguins get it on with their little penguin penises and polar bears enjoying handies from one another. I try to laugh at the visual in my head, but all I can picture is the flesh eating monsters burning up a storm in my guts.
“You don’t look alright…”
“Just get the button
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