helen-louise (baratron) wrote,

Tuesday (part 2 of 4).

Tuesday was OK - having been online until about 9.30am, I slept until about 4pm and got up to check my email. Didn't have anything interesting, so I went to the shops - I had to buy a strapless bra to wear under my dress for the funeral. I don't usually wear bras unless I'm in the gym (when I wear a Shock Absorber sports bra) - my breasts are quite big, but firm enough not to move around much unless I'm exercising, so I don't need underwear that restrains them in any way - just something to stop my nipples rubbing against my clothes and getting sore. However, my usual little crop tops have thick straps, and the dress I'd bought for the funeral had very thin little straps, and there was no way I could wear the one under the other. I tried wearing the dress with nothing underneath, but I felt too self-conscious, and my nipples started to feel rubbed after only a few minutes. So I had no choice but to head for the shops.

The lingerie department of Marks and Spencer's sent me into a state of panic. I walked around there for 20 minutes, desperately trying to find something practical and non-frilly. I've commented before how uncomfortable I feel in femme clothing - and fancy lingerie is about as impractical as you can get. In the end, I gave up and ran round to Bentalls, where I've bought underwear before. The Bentalls lingerie department is staffed by 40- and 50-something women, who've probably seen everything. I found one and explained what I needed. She sent me into the changing room to get measured, looked me over, noting my simple black underwear and Doc Martens, and returned with a plain black cotton bra with just a small rose motif in the centre. It fitted not perfectly, but about as well as any underwear has ever fitted me. And despite being very tight (necessary, due to the lack of straps), it wasn't anywhere near as tight as bras I have tried in the past, which have always triggered anxiety in me (I have asthma, and as a result can't wear anything tight around my neck or chest as it makes me feel as though I can't breathe). I was extremely grateful, though I just said "thanks" rather than being effusive, paid and got the hell out of there.

I wandered into Computer Exchange, then went home to eat pasta and salad. I'd been planning to spend the evening writing an email to someone who I've owed an explanation of some important things to for more than six weeks, but my concentration was non-existent. In a wild attempt to avoid having to write anything, I made some phone calls to friends, and then I found myself bothered by the mess in our flat, and decided to clean it all up. Richard came in at about midnight, and I was still cleaning (I sent him straight out again with six bags of magazines for recycling), carrying on until the place looked, if not tidy, at least habitable - by which time it was 3am. We had various other things to do before the funeral (such as ironing clothes and taking all the labels off them), so we ended up not going to bed until 4am. My back was aching like mad after lifting and carrying so many books and magazines, but I figured I'd get a hot shower in the morning, and that would ease my aching muscles.

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