It's a funny word to see, to say, to spell.
At most Dairy Queens you'll see it spelled brazier or brasier, and it's related to the way food is cooked.  In some restaurants you'll see it spelled brasserie, and it's related to serving alcoholic beverages as well as food.  In the lingerie section of many department stores you'll see it spelled brassiere, and it's related to a woman's upper undergarment.  Or is it an under uppergarment?
A funny thing happened to me one morning while vacationing in Holland last week and it's related to the third spelling, which is often shortened to the three little letters that fall at the end of the first name of Miss Streisand.
When Allan and I are traveling on the stop and go, and don't spend more than two or three nights in a place, we live out of our suitcases.  It doesn't make sense to put clothes and things in drawers and closets for such a short time.   My goodness, we've lived on Lilac Lane here in Victoria for almost 35 years now, and we still have trouble putting all our things away in drawers and closets.
Since we make a point of only bringing one suitcase each, whether it's destined for Brussels or Brainerd, said suitcases get pretty packed.  After being tossed around by the airline, shoved in and out of car trunks, and squeezed under beds, the clothes inside of the suitcases are not damaged too much, but they do become a bit scrambled.
This scrambling doesn't seem to be a problem for Allan, but sometimes it puts me in a tizzy.  For example, if I pack all my socks neatly in the front right corner, they often end up in the back right corner.  And when I'm vrootling around in my suitcase in the dark, it makes matters worse and the socks end up all over the place.
One morning, while it was still kind of dark in our room, I was kneeling on the floor by my suitcase, feeling around for my black upper undergarment.  When you go on a trip for 12 days, you need at least 12 pairs of socks and 12 underpants but you only need 3 bras.  I had brought two black ones and one white one, and I was looking for the black one I wore yesterday because it wasn't finished yet but it had vanished into thin air.
"Allan, have you seen my black bra?" I yelled to him as he was shaving in the bathroom.
"No, I haven't," he said calmly.
"Well, think about it!" I demanded.  "How can you answer me so fast?  Are you sure you haven't seen it?"
I checked outside of my suitcase, by the television, by the chair, by the desk, and had no luck at all.  Finally I got my fingers on the second black bra in my suitcase and put it on, then proceeded to straighten out the mess I had made of things.  I refolded my jammies and sweaters and I hand-pressed my red jeans, my black jeans, my white jeans, then got up to do my hair.
On the way to the bathroom I saw myself in the large mirror above the desk and did a double take ... and gasped.  There were four black straps on my shoulders, two on each side of my neck.  Holy Moly, I was wearing both of my black bras at the same time.  It was sort of like the Janet Jackson debacle in reverse except I did not have to feign embarrass-ment.
I ran back to my suitcase, slunk to the floor, and whipped off the top one before anyone would notice except God and my guardian angel.  When Allan came out of the bathroom he was not the wiser about what had just transpired.
"Did you find your black bra?" he asked. 
"Yes, of course," I replied.
"Where was it?" he pursued.
"In my suitcase," I said.  "What's the big deal about it?  And what took you so long in the bathroom!"
Then I took my turn in the bathroom and not another word was said about it.
Eventually my sense of humor returned and whenever I recalled that mirror image with the four black shoulder straps, I started laughing.  How could I have been so absent-minded?  And how could I not have noticed what I was doing?  It's like when my car goes somewhere without me steering it because it's gone there a million times before.
But nobody likes to be caught with their pants down or wearing two bras, even when there's hardly anything to hide in the first place.  We feel foolish and we don't want others to think or know that we are foolish, at least not right away. 
Next time I'll only have one along, and I'm not taking it off until I get back home.
                               ~Sue