Uplifts and downturns..

With apologies to any gentlemen who may have stumbled upon these pages the next few lines are about undergarments, in fact this post is going to be about bras and control pants but this will be a metaphor for a much larger and more important issue; therefore you are excused any blushes as it is figurative rather than about my figure...

So, today I took a step that all recently single woman have to take. I went to Bravissimo. I had inspected my underwear drawer and, frankly, all my bras have been washed so many times that I have no idea what colour they used to be. Also, they only 'fit' as such because they hang off my shoulders and fasten, but beyond that Gok Wan, Trinny, Susannah and that frightening android woman off '10 Years Younger' would have ridiculed them for at least a 1/3 of a programme. A lovely Mumsy lady in Bravissimo reassessed and reviewed, changed 36C to, erm, 34F and sent me off uplifted in all the ways a lady can be.

All good thus far but when and where did the downturn occur? In Debenhams, inevitably. I was in there to buy the final item all single women require. Industrially reinforced control pants which could contain and/or repel a host of charging wildebeest. I struggled into a number of unsightly and unfeasible garments until I found a pair that looked like cycling shorts redesigned by a colour-blind and quite sadistic surgeon (surely NOBODY has skin THAT colour). They looked dreadful but did kind things to my figure when re-clothed, so, proud of myself I headed to the checkout.

Since Christmas I have had a £50 Debenhams giftcard tucked in my purse. It was, and will remain, the last Christmas present ever given to me by my ex-husband. For four months I've looked round Debenhams plotting the opportunity to spend it but saving it up for a big treat - after all, he owes me one. I handed it over to the cashier who swiped it, instead of ringing up a sale it made a 'beep' noise, she then punched in the bar code numbers, beep again. She did that rubbing thing that shops do with cards. Beep again. It had been declined. In front of the cashier (who was giving me a 'you obviously nicked it' look) I rang the helpline which announced that it had never been activated. I had to leave without the concrete pants and with a smidgen less pride.

In case you have missed the metaphor I will spell it out (like the good English teacher I am). The bra represents moving onwards and upwards; the control pants the reverses that can come at the single woman from nowhere. But what will I see when I look in the mirror? my new uplifted decolletage which will block all unslightly views of my tummy. Well done me.

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