If having a bad day was a sport, then I’d be a gold medal winner. Take a recent Saturday by way of example, if you will . . . we’ll call this one “A day in the life of a self-portrait model/photographer”.

Since I developed acid reflux about 18 months ago, and recently added an esophageal hernia into the excitement, I have found it very difficult to find comfortable bras. The tight band under the cups just cuts into my skin and ribs which doesn’t help the acid reflux one little bit. Underwires are fine for a photo shoot or for a couple of hours at myPub™, but definitely not comfie for the long haul. Hence my recent infatuation with “bralettes”. The combination of soft cups, no underwire, and a wide lace underband just get me to feeling all girlie. Naturally, it’s difficult to find them in a big enough size. [Dear bralette manufacturers, please be aware that you could be making a killing in the market for ladies with breast implants]. I happened to come across a pretty white lace bralette a couple or three months ago and since they were marked for clearance, I ordered one each in white and black. The black one went straight to back-order. Twice. Thinking in my usual manipulative fashion, I called and changed the order to two black bralettes! I am nothing if not super-smart. A week later I received an email informing me that my black lace bralette had been shipped!!!!! Yay!!!! . . . wait a minute, that was “bralette”, singular, not plural. Could it be that finally somebody had realised that you cannot really have a “pair” of panties and a single “bra”??? Unfortunately, no, they had simply placed the second bralette on back order.

Several days later as I obsessively carefully checked my online banking statement to keep track of what I was being charged, I saw that the lingerie company [as linked above] had placed two pending “holds” on my account — one for a single bralette and one for the two bralettes. I wasn’t particularly concerned because I had received the shipping confirmation and as in my initial order, I knew that the extra charge would roll-off when all the pending charges cleared. Imagine my surprise when I checked my balance the next morning only to discover that my bank had quite thoughtfully transferred the only existing $100 from my savings account to my chequeing account in order to cover my “overdraft” . . . and had additionally charged me $10.00 for this service. I promptly called my bank and asked what the hell they thought they were doing transferring funds around when there was without any doubt NO OVERDRAFT to start with!! The bank rep patiently explained to me that because of the two pending charges an overdraft had occurred and it was an automated banking service for them to cover my overdraft. I patiently explained to her that a “pending” transaction is hypothetical, meaning that unless and until the transaction actually cleared my account then it was not an actual transaction. Hence, since the transaction did not take place, then the service could not have taken place, and thus they could not charge me a service fee for a service that had not happened. They reversed the un-service fee.

Knowing that it was about time for my parcel to arrive, I checked the USPS website and found the status from the previous evening to read as follows: “Attempted delivery at 5:50pm” and “Notice left”. Well, the leasing office was open until 6:00pm and they did not, in fact, leave a notice because I checked. I called the leasing office to double-check and sure enough, they did not have my parcel. I drove the half-mile to the post office only to be told by the nice little Indian lady postal drone “We don’t have it.” “Well”, I said, “if *I* don’t have it and my leasing office doesn’t have it, and YOU don’t have it, then WHERE is it?” Off she scuttled to do whatever it is they do back there in the dungeon. Meantime, I entertained myself by watching the queue of people waiting to use the automated postage machine [because the main post office is closed on Saturdays]. The guy using the machine had about 10-12 envelopes that he had to process one at a time. There were a couple of people behind him and then there was The Highly Annoying Couple at the end of the queue. They consisted of a married couple in their 60s I would guess. He was Iranian and she was English. I could tell where she was from since her mouth didn’t stop flapping for a moment as she hen-pecked her miserable husband about how awful it was that somebody had the nerve to get there before them and to tie up the only automated machine and on a Saturday no less and it’s already a quarter to and we don’t really need to post this TODAY so why don’t we just go??? They were standing literally five feet apart bickering. At one point, the Nagging Wife actually stomped outside thinking that Henpecked Hubby would tag along. Instead, he decided on a path of least passive-aggressive resistance and stayed put until she sheepishly wandered back inside to continue her harangue.

Around about then, the nice Indian lady returned and started to explain to me that the regular postperson had been off work the previous day and thus her temporary replacement was in possession of my parcel . . . before she could quite finish her sentence, Henpecked Hubby barged right up next to me and demanded to know “Can’t you DO something about the machine hog?”

DK . . . . . : EXCUSE me, would you mind not interrupting?
Henpecked: I’ll do whatever I want, I need to know!!
DK . . . . . : Well, you’ll have to bloody-well wait your turn!
Henpecked: You can bloody-well go to hell!
DK . . . . . : Actually, I already have my reservation. However, I’m not your nagging wife, so don’t take your crap out on me.

I then turned to the Nagging Wife: “As for YOU, Madame, you are a disgrace to England. I suggest you rein in your rude husband before my knee rudely interrupts his balls. Although you might need to dig them out of your handbag first.”

[a stunned silence ensued as Henpecked backed quietly away]

The Indian postal worker lady calmly continued to explain that the temporary postman had my parcel and that I should probably go and find him. Before I could think of a suitable voodoo curse to put on her, her entire family, and anybody within hearing distance, she explained that he only had two buildings on his Saturday route, mine and the one across the street. She said that he would be parked on the street and that I would be able to see him at the mailboxes. Sure enough, his truck was there . . . but he was not.

. . . I finally gave up and limped back to my apartment to lie in wait for him . . . which led to a successful ambush about an hour later.

The reason why I was having to run around the city stalking a postal worker was because the above-referenced lingerie company cannot simply use a 6-in. x 9-in. envelope to ship about half a yard of flimsy lace. Instead, they use a BOX that is 10-in. wide x 9-in. deep with a height of THREE INCHES. [Or however the hell those dimension thingies work.] A box of this size will not fit in my mailbox so the postal service has no choice but to deliver the box to the leasing office. The leasing office, of course, is closed by the time I get home from work and check my mail. Hence the goose chase to track down my parcel.

Here’s the equation for the math enthusiasts amongst you: Bad day + beautiful new black lace bralette + ridiculously over-sized box = stupendously long essay with PHOTOS! I whipped-out my digital camera, slipped into my new lingerie, set-up the shot . . .

and THEN . . .

my tripod broke.

Not to be defeated, I taped the broken leg together and shot some quick photos. I then went to upload them into WordPress — which as I recently mentioned had just been “upgraded”. That was when I discovered a huge hairy bug had woven its sticky web around the so-called upgrade and I was utterly unable to add the photos to this post. I frantically placed a call to my wonderful web host who can usually take care of my needs — I’m not just talking about backing-up, but plugging-in, and the works! After a few deft maneuvres, even HE could not get me there . . . I’m sorry, he said, I know how badly you want it, but all I can do right now is give you a quickie. Which unfortunately left me unsatisfied and him frustrated. I have since tried all manner of upload fixes to no avail and since my web host is now totally ignoring my whingeing emails busy with such trivia as running 23 businesses, re-planting his garden, and pretending to help helping to plan a wedding, I have had to resort temporarily to PhotoFucket — which means, Gentle Readers, that I cannot post any R-rated photos for the foreseeable future. If you are a WordPress user and have NOT “upgraded” to version 2.5, please, for the love of all that is creative, DO NOT UPGRADE UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR WEBSITE TO BECOME A NUCLEAR FUCKING DISASTER. Not that I’m bitter.

At this point in what can only be described as a story that should have already been taken out to the woods and shot, I would like to present to you the following amazing visual aids:

The 10-in. wide x 9-in. high x 3-in. deep box
which contained my order

An aerial view of the box

A close-up of the interior of the box showing the 5-in. wide x 3-in. high x 1/4-in. deep baggie that contains the bralette [please try to contain your excitement at this time]

The flimsy little slip of lace that comprises said bralette

and finally, the two not-so-titillatingly G-rated photos that resulted from all of the aforementioned adventures:

♥

. . . and you thought modelling was EASY?????????????

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 6th, 2008 at 3:21 pm and is filed under Humour. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.