ALL CUPS, NO SAUCERS | Broughton Spurtle

Submitted by Editor on Fri, 09/01/2015 - 09:41

The Left-Handed Tea Drinker stood outside, looking nervous. He was twitching and shifting his eyes in every direction as if he didn’t want to get caught. He looked left and right, took a deep breath and then stepped inside …

After a recent minor disagreement with Mrs Left-Handed Tea Drinker, she told me I should seek professional help. A tad extreme but it did get me thinking.

I do bottle things up; there are plenty of things in my life which have been stored deep down, afraid to see the light of day. Perhaps now is a good time to start getting them off my chest. Who better to share them with than my nearest and dearest: the great people of Broughton?

The following event took place early last year and has been repressed until today.

The Little Left-Handed Tea Drinker had just arrived on the scene and life as we knew it had changed forever. I was running around like a lunatic to complete the jobs that Mrs LHTD was unable to do. She was barking orders like an army general, and one particular mission that she sent me on had consequences that would change my life forever. She sent me to a bra shop.

Why now? Why me? You don’t question a woman who’s just given birth. You do as you’re told and get on with it. To her it was a simple task: go to this shop and pick up the order. She had kindly called ahead and they were expecting me. I was given the location, which I prayed would be a quiet little area where I wouldn’t be spotted. It was in Multrees Walk. All I could say was, ‘See you in half an hour’.

When I reached the shop, I walked on past, looking over my shoulder in case I’d been followed. I did a couple of circuits, passing the shop to see if I recognised anyone nearby. I thought about a disguise. I could take my glasses off but then I wouldn’t be able to see. That’s all you need – a nervous and twitchy man fumbling around in a bra shop. I thought about wearing a balaclava, but realised that was probably not the most sensible idea.

You’re probably wondering what the big deal is with going into a bra shop. Why all the fuss? Well, because I’m me. All my life, every task I’ve been given, every errand I’ve been sent on, has been hampered by my inability to function normally in public. The embarrassment and constant overthinking were enhanced tenfold on this occasion by the nature of the institution.

I stood outside the shop and I looked left and right. I didn’t see anyone I recognised and I had to get on with it. Time was ticking after all, there would be more orders waiting for me at home, more errands to run. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

I walked straight to the counter. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be and I couldn’t actually see any lingerie. I remembered what Mrs LHTD had told me and I repeated it to the shop assistant. She informed me that I was in the wrong section.

When I got upstairs, I was faced with wall-to-wall brassieres. I locked my eyes on the counter again and walked straight ahead. There was a queue. Two ladies on holiday from Ireland were chatting casually to the assistant. As they left, I smiled as if to say ‘Don’t mind me, simply running an errand for my wife who’s just given birth’. They looked at me and tutted, disgusted to see such a creepy-looking man on the premises. I couldn’t blame them.

By the time the shop assistant spoke, I was a mess. I was so nervous my mouth had dried and I couldn’t speak properly. I muttered, ‘Wife. Phone. Order. Brassiere’. What happened after that is a blur. It was like an out-of-body experience. The next thing I remember is having somehow completed the transaction and being given a bag containing the goods.

As I left the shop I felt as if everyone had stopped to look at me. I returned home and recounted the event to Mrs LHTD. I asked her why she had put me through such an ordeal.

‘Well I thought about ordering it online,’ she replied. ‘Then I thought it would be a great way to get you out of the house for a while and provide me with a little light entertainment at the same time’.

Needless to say, I haven’t been the same since. But whenever Mrs LHTD reminds me that she’s been through labour, I remind her that I have been to a bra shop.

['Nurse the Baby image': creative commons, Children’s Bureau Centennial. WPA Project 1938. Multrees Walk image, Jonathan Oldenbuck, creative commons; chemise image, Creative commons, Wikipedia.]

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