Today was a shopping trip for necessities: undies and socks.
Picture this: I still have pink in my hair, I wear a compression garment on my left arm and hand, and I have breast cancer ribbon pin on my jacket.
As the sales clerk is processing the undies, she hold up one pair and says, “You know, there is a bra to match this pattern. It’s just fabulous.” My response, “I don’t have a chest for one.” [There are some days when blunt is all I’m about.] She says, “Oh, we have this one in a B cup.” I looked right at her and said, “No. I literally mean I don’t have a chest.”
At which point my appearance registers. Did she ever turn pink. And stutter. And apologise. All while I was laughing.
Another day of being me.