Every week, I have the opportunity to write about something different. I have chosen to harp on the departure of son #3 several times. We won’t do that this week. Because it just makes me sad. Sad because my baby is flying very far away, sad because he is my only child who knows how to help fix the TV in the kitchen when it decides not to work, sad because he knows the apple passwords … oh wait, I am writing about him again.
Then there are topics that I would like to write about, but might be construed as inappropriate.
For example, the other day I went shopping for undergarments in the land of Monsey. You would think that undergarments and Monsey don’t go together, but there I was, in some store that was filled with every shabbos robe imaginable. What is a shabbos robe? Well, it is a robe that you can wear on shabbos because it is so pretty. Some come in velvet (which might actually be velour that looks like velvet), some have flowers or sequins or intricate beading. They come in different colors, but they all are the same style. Down to the floor and down to your wrists and up to your neck. Baruch Hashem. They also sell some kind of organic absorbent underwear — we won’t go into details on that one but I guess I had never heard about them because I don’t have girls. It was fascinating.
But then, it happened. I met the bra whisperer. The bra whisperer is this adorable blond shaitel lady who takes one look at you and says, “I need a 106 from section 2.” And then her helper appears with a bra that you try on and it fits perfectly. “How do you know what size people are if you don’t measure them?” I asked this most interesting lady. “I have been doing this for over 20 years. I dream about bras,” she replied. This store has hundreds and hundreds of different styles and colors, padded, not padded, minimizers, maximizers, sports bras — and the blond shaitel lady knows where each one is and what will look best on you.
Is it inappropriate to write about bras? I’m thinking maybe the men who read my column might be uncomfortable with it, and honestly I chose the word bra instead of another word for what goes in a bra — hopefully we are all okay with it. Though I am still convinced that only a man could have designed the sports bra that you have to put on and take off over your head instead of it having clasps in the back. No woman would have purposely done that to another woman. It makes no sense at all.
And then the topic of “I cannot believe someone asked that.” Unfortunately, my dad is in the hospital again. Because he is so talented, he managed to fall and break his ankle without actually falling on his ankle. Yes, my dad has many gifts, and one of them is injuries or medical situations that don’t usually happen to other people. So now, a man who can barely walk isn’t allowed to put any weight on one of his legs. For six weeks. So you would think that a man who cannot walk and now cannot stand would be going to a rehabilitation facility, right? Well, according to certain guidelines, you cannot be admitted to rehab unless you have been in the hospital for three nights. But he hasn’t been in the hospital for three nights. So the person who is trying to figure out what to do with my dad told me that she had to ask me some questions. Fine, I am here to do whatever I can for my dad.
“Umm, can he hop to a chair?” Excuse me? “Yes, can your father hop to a chair?” Seriously? Can he hop? Let me ask him. No, he cannot hop! The things you take for granted — like the ability to hop. And the ability for people not to ask ridiculous questions.
So there you go, a column not about son #3, where to get fitted for the perfect religious undergarment, and questions not to ask highly stressed daughters who are on the brink…. You’re welcome.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck has a husband who did not approve of this column, but let her submit it anyway because of the whole “highly stressed on the brink” thing….