I whispered the “b” word to my husband. We both snickered.
He glanced down at our daughter hovering in on the conversation. “Is that right?” he asked. “Gonna do a little bra shopping with mom tonight?”
My daughter melted to the floor, her face three shades of crimson. But her recovery was quick. “Yes!” she beamed. “And I can’t wait.”
It was just the two of us. My daughter who will not need a bra for some time–like years–and me who cannot remember the last time I went shopping for such a thing. Browsing in the pretty section. Smoothing our fingers over colored cups. Gasping at the size of some.
When my daughter held up a weensy thong, I found myself explaining that some panties don’t come with the buns. We laughed together. And then she shuddered.
“Can you believe it?” she said. “That means their bottoms are actually touching their pants.”
All I can say is… I love her.