A Justice Site
Mirror Sites:
CSUDH - Habermas - UWP
The Pink Lace Bra
By Gail Nakamura
California State University, Dominguez Hills
University of Wisconsin, Parkside
Soka University Japan, Transcend Art and Peace
Created: October 31, 2001
Latest Update: December 8, 2001
jeannecurran@habermas.org
Copyright: Jeanne Curran and Susan R. Takata and Gail Nakamura: December 2001.
"Fair Use" encouraged.
On Friday, December 7, 2001, Gail Nakamura wrote:
Subject: pink lace brasI wrote a story regarding a pink lace bra. Hope you like it.
“Pink lace, pink lace, pink lace, no…not beige, not fawn, not taupe, not white, not winter, where’s the pink lace.” The thoughts ran endlessly in her head as she feverishly rummaged through her dresser drawers, under the bed, in the closet…for just the right bra to wear under her silk blouse that coordinated perfectly with her new designer power suit and freshly manicured nails.
“Where is it?” she wailed. “My best, lucky bra. I have an important meeting with the boss-man.”
“What about your tan one” he suggested as he trudged into the bedroom, coffee cup in hand, hair disheveled.
“No,” she snapped. “It has to be the pink lace. My blouse is pink. You’re no, help.”
He opened his mouth to speak.
“Don’t you interrupt me and don’t you dare suggest another blouse. And don’t even think about another suit. It has to be the new suit for the meeting. So it has to be the blouse, and so it has to be the pink lace bra. It’s all about the pink lace bra.”
He shrugged, playing the unsophisticated illogical male role with no fashion sense.
“The pink lace is perfect for the suit. The suit is perfect for the blouse. The blouse is perfect for the bra…”
He struggled to follow her logic. “But…”
“No. Don’t argue with me, and don’t take that tone in your voice. Just help me to find it.”
He helplessly looked under the bed. “I already looked there,” she yelled.
“You’re no help!” she huffed. “Now I’m going to be late. Damn it.” She grabbed a pink satin bra and hurriedly changed into her power suit. “It’s not the lace one,” she muttered as she ran out the door. “It’s not the same. It doesn’t look right, doesn’t fit right, it’s gonna ruin everything.”
He heard her car roar down the street and looked in the mirror. He combed his hair, took a sip of coffee and pulled his designer power suit out of the closet. He dressed and picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. As he passed by the mirror in the foyer, he put down his briefcase and straightened his tie. “She’s wrong” he said to himself, “the pink lace matches perfectly with my suit.” He winked at his image, picked up his briefcase, and walked out the door.