Let me just start out by saying that I am one of those ladies that benefits from a bra. I have mates who can spend the while summer bra-less, in swimmers, and not be bothered by it one little tit.
Yesterday we were heading to a surf beach so that Mr Woog could teach Harry how to. Before that though, we needed to pop into the supermarket to grab a couple of supplies. So I was wearing a bra under my swimmers, which was under a beach dress.
Later, we arrived at the beach and it was glorious. Apart from the huge, gusty winds that were whipping along the sands. And causing Jack to get grains in his eyes every 3 seconds….
Mr Woog had made a new purchase, one of those straw hats that could double as a satellite dish. So when he wears it, teamed with a long sleeved rashie and boardies, he is completely unidentifiable from the dozens of other dads on the beach. Don’t you reckon that is the Aussie Male Beach Uniform?
Here is the hat. He could not wear it because of the wind…
The sea was angry that day my friends, but the weather was 34 degrees, so a dip was in order. I unhooked my bra and with one very un-sexy movement. I un-alluringly pulled it up through the top of my cossies. I placed it on my towel so I could spend a moment rearranging the girls, when all of a sudden…
A gust of wind arrived the knocked over the umbrella.
While I was attending to the potentially deadly missile, another gust arrived and whipped my bra up into the sky. Up, up it went, like some sort of sad, grey, ratty twin parachute. I watched it hovering in the sky and thought to myself, “I really should chuck that bra out.”
It travelled impressively for about 6 metres before the wind gave out. It drifted gently back down to earth and landed smack bang in the middle of a gaggle of teen aged girls who were wearing bright bikinis. They shrieked in alarm, I mean it is not everyday you are lying there, minding your own goddamn business, when a giant, nasty bra falls on you.
Red faced, I retrieved my bra from the horrified group. The scenario reminded me of what might happen if a giant dog took a dump in the middle of a fancy gathering. Recoiling in horror would be a good adjective to use here I suppose. I apologised for the fear that my bra caused and wished them a good day.
Mr Woog came up from the beach and asked me what was wrong. I told him. I also told him that I needed all new underwear and he agreed with me. Then he took me to the pub for a schooner to recover.
It took two.