My Last Normal Day

I couldn't figure out how to put my bra on this morning.

I stared at white cotton and it was as if I was looking at an 8 sided Rubik's cube. The action that has been part of my routine every morning for 30 years was as foreign to me as Hyderabad. I sat down on the side of the bed and tried to make sense of what was happening.

I knew what the object was - BRA. OK, fine. Now, what is it for? SUPPORT. What, like "Well done, you are a good person,"? No, wait, it goes on my body. Somehow.

I knew it was supposed to be a normal action. A normal beginning to a normal day. Dress, then breakfast, commute, work, lunch, work, commute, dinner, internet, TV and sleep. Do it again tomorrow. Unless it's Saturday or Sunday, then it's altered, work is replaced by chores or errands or, occasionally, fun. But that bra still needed to be put on.

I couldn't do it.

Somehow this piece of fashion technology that kept everything secure in my chest area, had become something greater. It was now a symbol of my uneventful life, my daily drudgery and all the lost adventures that I had promised myself years ago. It became the representation of everything 'normal' in my life. 

Without conscious thought, I stepped into the bathroom and grasped the blue handled scissors I kept in my toothbrush mug. A few snips later, the offending garment had been transformed into a useless pile of fabric and elastic. I watched the pile intently, waiting to see what my first feeling would be. Guilt? Embarrassment? Absurdity?

The feeling that blossomed just below where that sacrificial lingerie normally resided was a surprise - joy.

In wonderment, I let the pile flutter to the floor. I met my own gaze in the mirror and let the feelings wash through me. Joy, freedom, energy and the absolute certainty of one inescapable fact.

I had lived my last normal day.