March 6
 

 
 
 
 

I have a secret to tell all of you.  Come on in close.  Closer.  That's right.  Here you go:  women do not wash their bras after each wearing.  Okay, sure, that's an overgeneralization, and I'm sure you out there, missy, you're a much cleaner and fastdious person than I, and you run home, strip off all of your clothing and immediately toss it all into the gentle cycle with a capful and a half of Woolite.  The rest of us do not.   The rest of us wear a bra for as many days as we go between laundry, switching between however many wearable bras we own.
 

What? What's a wearable bra?  Well, of course, we all have more than, say, 5 bras at any given time, in the underwear drawer.  Bras are very much like pants:  sometimes we wear what's comfortable rather than what's sexy.  In fact, I'd say MOST time comfort wins out over look, but there are definitely those bras waiting patiently towards the back, the red Wonderbra, waiting waiting waiting, knowing that some day, you will be getting dressed to go to a party, and despite the fact that you already posess an ample bosom, you'd like to give said bosom a, well, lift and shove, and you will reach for the completely impractical red Wonderbra.  The Wonderbra knows that you will be sort of uncomfortable with the presentation ("For your consideration, sir and madame!  My  gravity defying chest!") but that you will also be kind of flattered by the attention (tittention?).  The Wonderbra knows this, but it also knows that later, after the party, you will be driving home and it will be late, so perhaps you'll be driving a little too fast and you'll get pulled over by a town cop hiding off to the side of the road.

He will pull you over and you will turn to face him as he takes your license and registration.  You will sit and fret the whole time, wondering how many points you'll get, and when he comes back to the car a few minutes later, he hands you a warning ticket, says some stern words, glances ever so imperceptibly over your rack, and lets you go.

Was it the Wonderbra? That's what you'll wonder.
 

My point?  Why, I think it was that most women take the bra they wore that day and stuff it into their drawer until the next time.  A lot of people do this with jeans.  I do.  I mean, I don't do it with jeans for like two weeks straight or whatever, but a few days in the same smelly pair of jeans won't kill me or anyone around me.  All bets are off, however, when you've eaten Indian food.  Saturday night, Nick and I went over to our friend's house.  Sanju, being Indian, cooked Indian food.  It was delightful, she was a goddess, a good time was had by all.  We got home late, I folded my jeans up neatly, and stored them in their usual storage space (heh, the floor!), I took off my bra and put it in the drawer and I forgot about both until Monday morning.

Come Monday morning, my bra has been virtually STEWING in curry-smell for two days.  Did I know this beforehand?  Nope.  I was punched with it about 30 seconds later.  Curry.  Wow!  Did I perform some bra-scenting trickery and keep it on, or did I do the right thing, and toss it into the laundry basket?  I'll never tell.*

Also, jeans left to sit in the floor in a neat heap after a night of chowing down on chicken curry and supersonic Indian death shrimp? (this is not to say, of course, that my JEANS were eating.  Other than what I drop on them, they don't get fed too often.) kind of ferment. They ferment and begin to take on the bouquet of a dirty, drunken night in Calcutta; one where I fell down a lot and wiped my poori-greasy hands on my thighs right before I went for the midnight camel ride.   That's what I ran into Tuesday morning, while considering my outfit for the day.  Again, did I wear the jeans?  Hmmm.  Your guess is as good as mine.**
 
 

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* yes, I did!
** Again, you bet.  What?  It's not like I was going anywhere important.