My mother was sixteen, cross-armed and in baggy sweaters when she had to take herself to get her first bra. She walked into the store and a gaggle of fierce, matronly women descended upon her to help. They took one look at Mum and hollered, “Madame needs support!” What “support” meant at the time was a bra fastened with sixteen clips that provided more body coverage than a medieval knight’s chest plate. These were the days of bosoms, not boobs.

As a girl, I loved laughing at this ...