The long eight hour flight from Portland to Syracuse turned even longer when fog wreaked havoc on the Chicago airport and all flights were delayed. I finally got on my connecting flight, four hours later than scheduled. When the pilot came on and announced we couldn’t take off because the toilet was clogged, there was nothing all of us trapped passengers could do but laugh.
So, I was not all together surprised, when I finally met my Mom at baggage claim at 11:30 pm-- six hours later than expected --and we discovered my bag was missing.
The next afternoon, dressed in a t-shirt borrowed from my brother, socks from my mom and my underwear turned inside out, I called the airline, only to find out they still hadn’t located my bag.
“We’d better go shopping,” my dad declared. For political reasons, my dad refuses to step foot into the mall. So that left us with one option for bras and underwear: Target.
As my dad and I made our way to the ladies lingerie department, I’m not sure which one of us felt more out of place.
“Here’s some,” he said, pointing to the pink packages of bikinis, thongs and low rise panties the lined the wall. “What size are you?” he wanted to know, flipping through the sale three-packs of briefs. "What's wrong with these?" Have you ever tried to explain to your dad that briefs are too high and bikinis are too low? And that I really just wanted to head to the men's department and buy some boxers. Me neither, until today.
I just had no idea what to buy at the Target women’s aisle. Somehow I couldn't figure out a way to tell my Dad I preferred men's underwear. Finally I saw a package called “boy cut.” I grabbed my size and threw them into the basket.
It was on to bras. “What kind of boob holder do you want?” he asked. My Dad was starting to feel more comfortable. I stared at the rows of sports bras and realized I had no idea what size or cup I am. I had to call my girlfriend to ask. Dad didn’t seem phased by that. In fact it seemed to make perfect sense to him. You gotta love him. Plus, he paid.