Crazy-Pops

The question struck me across the head somewhere near the sock section in the department store. It was a statement, actually. But my brain still holds onto it as a question, because as the dad of a 9-year-old going on 30, I like to think that I still need to be asked rather than told about these things.

"Daddy, I want to try on a training bra."

Because this question came on the two-day heels of such questions as "I know what sex is" and "Tell me about periods," I was able to whip the correct response out of my pocket right then and there.

"Uhhhhhhh....."

"Come on, let's go try one on."

Let's?!?

"Sweetie," I said, frantically looking around for my wife who was somewhere trying on swimsuits, "You don't have boobs."

Yes, you're right. That indeed was the wrong thing to say. But as she stood there, looking down and admiring her desert of a chest, as if little cacti were about to sprout at any moment, she said, "I know. But I wanna do it anyway."

Good Christ, fine. She'll remember this daddy-daughter bonding fondly the rest of her life.

I didn't know what a training bra looked like. And of course, the store didn't have any. The only thing they had was something called a "pre-A." Which to me doesn't even make alphabetic sense. Similar to the new math, some kind of new English. But the thing had cups. They were small cups, but cups nonetheless.

"Yes. That one. I wanna try it on."

"Can we at least look for something that might work better?" sez I.

"Okay. But if we can't find anything, I wanna try this one."

So I got a bit smarter. I started asking around the store for "something like a sports bra, you know, for little girls." Silly me. So we end up back in a dressing room, my 30-year-old-9-year-old, her 6-year-old sister, and me, staring at this pink "thing" like Xixo the bushman stared at the Coke bottle that just fell out of the sky and thoinked him on the noggin.

You'd have thought she was a blushing bride, the way she tried that thing on. She couldn't even fasten it herself. (It's amazing, I thought to myself, how I can fasten a bra in 3 seconds, but I've never been able to take one off in under a minute.) But once on, the pink cups falling forward, empty, like pink sails against her lake of ivory skin, and her giggling the whole time, it hit me how deeply and badly I had it for this girl--especially when, still barely stifling her complete joy, she said that it probably wouldn't work. "But pretty soon," she said.

Truer words were never spoken. As it is, if they made bras for personalities, Dolly Parton's would be too small for this girl.

"Can I try it on?" her sister asked (she still knows how to ask questions the right way).

"When you're older," her big sister patiently said.

Her first bra experience. And without mommy (and where the hell was she, anyway?). Plus I figure it's money in the bank. With any luck, she'll return the favor when I have to go get fit for my first manzier.