boom : i made 47 orbits bitches !
kpm © : ig @kpm-artist
boom : i made 47 orbits bitches !
kpm © : ig @kpm-artist
yah know, there are just ‘those days’, when as much & as hard as yah try, you just cant help seeing all that is wrong with something, instead of seeing both sides of the coin.
today be one of those bitch ass days.
as much as i tried to ‘go-with-the-flow’, it just wasn’t flowing how i wanted it too.
so i’m here.
typing out my grievances.
actually i think about her most days, but today was a little different.
i had always wondered why she never left my grandfather when she appeared to be mostly (except for a few interim moments) pretty miserable.
they fought like cats & dogs & never really had anything nice to say to one another. they co-existed, or so it seemed.
they slept in different rooms & never really attended ‘functions’ together, like i saw other couples do.
there was always an air of animosity & tension.
poor old nan got the blame for most of that.
don’t get me wrong, i love both of my grandparents way beyond i love most things. but there things that my eyes & heart didn’t really understand.
as i become more ‘vocal’ & more of a feminist i suppose, my misplaced disdain for nan being in a situation she really didn’t like, made me question what she was up too.
why didn’t she just move on? start a new life? like my mama had when my father turned out to be a dick.
well, today i caught a glimpse of nans plight. i understood in a new way, why she didn’t or rather, couldn’t, ‘change’ her situation. it was something that i did know really, but not really really. lol. yah know when you really get the gist of something.
nan was a woman. a woman of the pre & post WW2 era. while she was fiercely independent & an entrepreneur & trailblazer of her era; she was limited.
because she was a woman.
where does a woman with no steady income – no ‘credentials’ – no ability to drive let alone purchase a vehicle – no ‘tribe’ that was accepting of her & her life choices (she married a man-of-colour, my grandfather, & was ostracised for it) – no alternatives – with declining mental health issues & daily challenges of small town living & generalised ‘woman misunderstanding’ – with a mouth that challenged the patriarchy @ every turn & was demonised for it.
where does that woman go when there is no where to go?
i guess i hadn’t really understood that sometimes, there is literally No Place To Go.
when that happens, you make a choice – a limited choice, but a choice none-the-less.
you remain in the situation that you know & that you can manoeuvre some type of freedom out of. as limited as that may be, it is better than the weighed up alternative – homelessness. aloneness.
today i understood her.
i understood her choices.
i admire her more than i think i have ever admired her before.
i think i’ll forgive you for all the times you’ve screwed up my ‘liking ability’, or messed with the follow button, or sent me little notifications that you’ve switched something around, or you’ve just fucking switched shit around …
we are, after all, 4 years into this relationship …
nah, its been a ‘journey’ *adding deep flowy – earthing type music* …
& its been real yo !! xx
that last couple periods, i’ve been mapping them a bit closer than usual. since the confirmation of good old peri-menopause, i decided more than ever, that i needed to get a grip on this whole embracing the ‘womanhood’ thing.
i think the first time i was given pain meds for periods, i was about 13. it was the doctors opinion that i was being OTT & that kick ass pain killers would fix everything.
its kinda a crime, i reckon, that something as natural as menstruating, is diagnosed as an illness & an inconvenience, & is then ‘shut up’ or shut down. am i surprised really though? after all i’ve learnt over the years.
womanhood is despised instead of celebrated.
they forget that without that uterus of ours, there’d be no life.
with a fine tooth comb, i went over all the ‘symptoms’ that are usually quite unbearable, related to perioding & menopause, cos for me they’re quite similar, just magnified.
i decided awhile ago to go with the natural route re ‘treating’ symptoms. which is a bit fucking hard really.
again … its a lot easier to just shut it down.
so, during these phases, i have the following things to manage: oh, as well as fucking (p)tsd!
yeah. thats about it in a nutshell.
so i trolled the symptoms & then the internet to find solutions.
i’m pretty gangstah like that.
& heres what i came up with:
so, what’s the results for moi?
i was skeptical AF, as usual: but i pretty much had nothing to lose.
& i’m happy to report that all that shit above, the symptoms, were either completed alleviated & / or halved.
how fucking grateful am i????
& thats all i have to say about that ;)
ok, think i’ve corrected the comments section. aka, i’ve just turned the cunt back on for all posts instead of them closing after a couple weeks.
the point was to filter out the dick pic adverts & the ‘let us help you build your website’ adverts. cos as much as i appreciate they’re doing their thang … i just don’t wanna spend half a day filtering the fuckers out, that the spam-a-lator has missed.
any who … it is what it is … & comments are back on.
haven’t solved the sharing button conundrum. mainly cos i can’t be fucked lol.
& that is what it is too. mostly peeps don’t share my shit anyway, which is aight; i get it … who wants to share some deranged ramblings of a slight depresso with a potty mouth? right lol. & seriously, i’d probably think you were a bit dodgy if you were sharing those .. they’re kinda my ‘diary of a wimpy kid’ writings; yah know – to vent & shit.
anyway, where was i going with all that … ummmm … i got a toothache & think i may have baked my shit with one too many tramadol eekkk …
so … we are sorted. i think.
*insert huge ass eye ball roll*
so for some fucked up reason WP has decided to remove the comments & pings on Some of my posts – not all – how devine of them … & on other posts (not the right ones *insert eye ball roll*) we are missing the sharing buttons.
but i shall remedy. soon.
the weekend just gone, i said ‘goodbye’ to my daughter & my beautiful moko.
moko is going to live with her papa & nanny, & my girl has joined the army.
i hate goodbyes.
i prefer – ‘see you later’.
but this whole process has had me reeling for months & as d.day got closer, it did a number on my insides, which i am still slowly processing.
i’m trying to be kind to myself & roll with the punches … but i’m feeling slightly bruised now.
i’m not sure how to explain it all, but thats about the size of me & fucking emotions.
i feel raw though. raw & vulnerable. & i hate it. but i’m sitting with the whole fucking thing.
it’s change. & its a new chapter. for all of us.
its all part of the cycle of life apparently.
change, that is.
& change, physical, mental or otherwise, can be fucking hard.
peri-menopause is the official title. today its just bullshit. bullshit changes. hard changes. physically harsh changes.
but its all part of the cycle of life apparently.
I woke in tears, and that hasn’t happened for a long long time. The tears stopped a little while ago but I think they’ll be intermittent today as I process …
I dreamt we were out doing ‘normal’ shit and I felt lost … not completely unsafe … just that lost, looking for home kinda feeling.
So I went into my grandfathers old room, in the old house. The bed was made and had the hideous maroon coloured bed spread on it. But it was made like my Nan makes it, all tucked up tight. I think I was wanting to curl up in there and listen to him read Me the Bible. I used to do that as a kid … listening to at least an hours worth of Psalms or Proverbs, his favourites :) I felt safe there. Perfectly safe. And perfectly loved.
But he wasn’t there. And I realised he wasn’t coming back cos he’s dead and I can’t see him or touch him – here – anymore. The tears started flowing in my dream, and they continued when I woke up.
You know when you’re half asleep, half awake, and you can feel something dawning on you … like some deep relevant revelation? Or does that just happen to Me ;) … Well that was happening as I was wiping tears and looking for my snot rag.
I got snippets of my Grandfather, his garden, him working, him cooking, him sitting watching TV doing his ‘invoices’ … and then I saw him crying … when I told him what had happened to Me as a child at the hands of his child. He had big silent tears spilling down his face that day, and I had never seen him cry before. He whispered that He was sorry and touched my hand. He looked sad and ashamed.
I understand now, as a grandparent, the love you have for your grandchildren … and the ache that comes from knowing that they’ve been hurt.
My Grandfather was My Man … the Man in my life that meant something; that I knew loved Me. I am eternally grateful that I had at least one Man be that person for Me.
As all that was churning over in my gutt / mind / heart … I felt a pang of something/s … think it was emotion … The neglect of my father … No safe space … No safe place anymore … and Not grieving the loss of my Grandfathers Face and Space after he left this world.
I’ve written about losing him before, but I can’t be bothered finding the link …
When my Grandfather was dying, we were all a bit in disbelief … I think because we thought he would somehow live forever … he was so strong, and determined, and organised lol, pretty sure death wasn’t on the agenda for that particular week! Certainly wasn’t for Me anyways.
I remember getting the call in the night. My Mama didn’t want to disturb us and it turned out that my Grandfathers heart had stopped the night before but they had resuscitated him. When she rang to let us know what was happening, I booked flights and we left the next morning. It was an 8 hour drive and like 4 hours to the morning flight. Simple choice.
Diversion: This was the last comfortable flight I took. I remember that awkward butterfly feeling in my gutt when we were landing in what they believe is an aeroplane; I think it is a tin can with wings … and knowing that this day was going to be an ending. I thought then that it was hopefully just something that would happen that was unpleasant, but we’d move on ok. Deep down though, I knew it was a life changer. And this feeling or whatever it is … comes at times when shit gets real. It’s uncomfortable and I want to run from it.
Duly noted …
When we got up to the hospital, my Grandfather looked tired … he looked uncomfortable and I knew he wanted to go home. He was trying to make jokes and make everyone feel Ok. And by in large, it was working. Everyone was in a blissful state of denial … even I felt a little warmed by it.
The pedo cunt was there, since he is the son of. What a bastard. But that is / was the story of my life … of everyone’s really. They all put up with him … at everything … on every occasion … because he was / is … family pfft. He raved on about putting down animals that are dying and that if Grandad was an animal he’d be put to sleep. That cunt and my Mama had the final say in whether my Grandfather was resuscitated again or not. They talked facts … I wanted to take him home.
Isn’t Home what we want when we feel uncomfortable or in need of love, or something safe or good? Even if Home isn’t all of those things; or even if Home doesn’t technically exist? It’s a feeling … a yearning … a belonging. Home. And that’s where my Grandfather needed to be … dying or not … he needed to be at home. But they wouldn’t let us take him home and no-one, including myself, had the grit to argue with those medical wankers at that stage.
So instead, we sat with Grandad, and read Him the Bible.
They told us we couldn’t give him anything to drink, but we didn’t listen to that bullshit and gave him whatever he wanted … which was chocolate milk lol of all things … I don’t think I’d ever seen him drink chocolate milk. But we gave it to him, because he was the Man that gave Us everything!!
He slept fitfully and we kept reading to him.
One of those inhospitable nurses, who was near the end of her shift no doubt, came in and told us we should be telling him what we needed too .. You know, last rites, last confessionals … all the things you wished you had of said but didn’t. I got then, that my Grandfather was dying, that his organs were slowly shutting down. But I could’ve punched that bitch for her attitude.
We continued reading to him.
You see, Grandad was a Man of very few words. But when he spoke, he said what he meant and he didn’t say it twice. This was no time for deep confessions or ‘I wish I had’ve …’ ; this was the time He Needed Us and Would Never Admit It.
In the meantime the pedo cunt decided he wanted to go home and get some clothes and the nurse warned him that his father may be not be alive when he got back so not to mess around.
None of Us gave a shit how long that cunt left for … and secretly hoped he crashed on the way to wherever he was going and never came back.
That was a God Send … if you believe in those. The pedo cunt left. I saw in him no shred of stamina. No shred of self sacrificial love for another. But I didn’t give a shit … I just wanted him to go away. And away he went. Finally.
Not more than an hour later Grandad woke up and looked like he was alright, but having not been around a whole lot of dying people before, we didn’t realise it was like a last rush. The bitch nurse (who was probably really nice, but I didn’t give a shit bout her either …) said he was going to die – go and wake up my daughter to come say goodbye.
At this stage everyone kind of went into shock I think. My poor Mama was trying to fuss around as our pizza had arrived; my youngest daughter started crying …
I went an achey blue cold. I can’t describe it any other way.
I didn’t want to be there. Like the prelude to a panic attack … Anywhere but here. But at the same time, I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world other than next to the only Man that loved Me completely.
In that achey blue cold state, I kind of snapped at my Mama and told her to tell Grandad she loved him. I ordered my youngest daughter to go wake up my eldest daughter … Now, and drag her here Now … and Fast. My eldest was pregnant with our first moko and was just pregnant tired. My youngest did as she was told for a change … I think it was my tone.
They started crying when they got back to Grandad and I understood why. And usually I’d encouraged it. But my beautiful Grandfather was a war veteran … a man who hardly ever cried … that was extremely uncomfortable with emotion and with the discomfort of others.
I told them to suck it up. To tell Grandad they loved Him and that He was a good Man. I told him He had done a fine job of being a father, grandfather and great-grandfather and now he could leave and we would be alright.
And the light in his big blue eyes went out.
And as the rest of the proceedings came and went … the phone calls, the death-mobile and all their papers and shit … the wheeling him out … telling them that we wanted him to be brought home (which was against his wishes, but not really .. I figured he wanted to go home before hand, and this was the least we could do ..) … the pedo cunt showing up again … me, mama and my girls all sleeping together in the same room that night … all waking up sobbing … feeling the end of an era fall on the whole house … the funeral … the tears … the numbness … for months until I half pie cracked one afternoon and sobbed till it hurt … and then the years that have gone by and I can’t even remember when he died … the date, the year, the time … but that moment when his light left was the moment something else left.
My Safe Place.
He was it. He was my father, my grandfather, my love, my safety, my teacher, my Man.
And then I got scared. And there was nowhere to go.
And this morning as I was wiping away snot and tears, I realised this was when my world came unhinged so to speak. I didn’t have a lot anyway … but what was good, was in him.What was safe, was in him. What was the calm in the storm, was in him. And i didn’t know how to re-orientate myself.
I still don’t.
But now I know.
And it hurts like fucking shit.
So I’ll let the tears run today and maybe I’ll light Grandad a candle … I’ll sit with all this today and feel that filthy great big lump in my throat and that ugly grief feeling in my puku.
I’ll let it do its thing.
i had a long winded entry here … typically ‘me’, with all my requests & ‘hopes’ @ control after death.
somewhere over the last few months, i’ve realised, there aint shit that you can do after you’ve croaked. not for yourself & not for those that love you.
& for those that love you (if you’re lucky enough to have any of those), how they chose to grieve you is all they have in that moment after you’ve gone.
so i guess i should pretty much leave them too it ;)
see, i’ll always be where my babies are … where their babies are. in life or death, i’ll always watch over them as best i can & protect them the best i can.
i love them more than any thing in or out of this world. & i’m pretty sure they know that, which means: my job here is done!
oh, & practically, for my poppets … do whatever the fuck yous like with my shit. theres another post (search: my will or death lol) in here somewhere about practical shit if you actually want practical / cheap advise lol … you’re welcome.
oh, & i got rid of the hard copy, theres just this one. & the usernames & passwords to my shit are the same / combos of what they’ve always been … if you can’t figure them out … oh well lol.
love yous my darlings! see yous later! mwahhhh xx
i’ve used my blog as a tool for venting & reconciling & that has worked well for me for the past 4 years. but that purpose is out of date & the focus of my blog is changing slightly. & i somehow think, if it’s even possible, that it will become slightly more raw.
as i am feeling more raw.
before the month declined slightly, i didn’t get the chance to post the beginning of said month, & that it was awesome starting this gregorian year off with my eldest moko.
this year he’ll be 11 … eeek.
he’s so gorgeous & such a lovely kid.
i’d asked him what he wanted to do for ‘new years’ & he reckoned he wasn’t fussed … just staying awake was an achievement ! so we did pizza & the beach earlier in the evening & then watched everyone elses fireworks from the comfort of our backyard ;)
lame photo of the ‘fireworks’ i know. but let me just point out my achievement for this night.
i haven’t ‘done’ fireworks displays for years & definitely haven’t gone out to take pics of any recently lol. yep, fireworks are all the usual pts(d) fuckery – loud, bright, random. this is the first year in fucking years i smiled @ them – hence the photo being shit lol.
so high-fucking-five me !
the following couple days before moko went home to his fams, he said he was missing his baby brother & told me all about how he got him up in the mornings & they’d have a chat (moko #9 is the newbie & he’s 4 months old) & then moko #1 would put bubba in his chair & turn on a specific cartoon for him, which apparently loves. i thought this was awesome & asked him why he does it. he says to me: so mama can have a sleep & cos i love him.
like i said, he’s a lovely kid.
anyway … the day before moko went home, we went to a ‘big dig’ – the purpose was to dig for 4 hours to hopefully find a plastic token & thusly win a corresponding prize.
he didn’t find anything & think he was over it within the first hour, but he persevered lol.
for me, it was a bit of a fucked up ‘achievement’. my beach was packed … & i mean packed (for our area anyways). not indicative of calm & tranquility, especially at this time of the year … but i sucked it up … well actually, breathed it out … & went down.
no-one but me really recognised the achievement, but oh well: you don’t always get a high five for the shit yah do ay.
have i mentioned i love my mokos?
they make life good xox
“Resistance” is in my blood … just ask my Mama ;) … and as I look over my unique heritage, I’m not really surprised at all.
Theres the Irish and Scottish colonisation’s, that resulted in their Response and continued Resistance. A few of those ancestors were sent to these ‘colonies’, and tahdah, our line changed. They weren’t perfect humans by any means, in fact there’s a couple who were down right assholes, but I’ll leave that for another post. But their Resistance to the invasion of their countries, was second to none. I admire the fuck out of that part of their narrative.
Then there’s the Jewish blood; the English blood; the French Canadian blood … and of course … the tangata whenua – Maori blood.
Learning about my tipuna and the layers of my Indigenous culture, has given Me a tonne of strength; it’s answered a heap of questions for Me; it’s made Me realise that I already know, deep down, what I need … Who I am … where I want to be. It’s given Me layers upon layers of beautiful healing.
And I am made up of multiple layers of Resistance and Response.
That Resistance has been voiced regarding colonisation and the social justice issues We continue to face as tangata whenua, through my art; and more recently that has extended to responding to, and re-framing sexual violence.
This love of justice … fairness … questioning … reframing … is what gives Me that fire in my belly. It’s probably what has helped to keep Me alive at times and I am grateful for it. I’d rather have it, than have nothing at all <3
“Thou Shalt Not Concede”
did i tell yah
well, i do.
wanna know why?
according to some
these little creatures,
shouldn’t be able to fly.
their little fat
should be to heavy
but even though
some old fart
decided, in his
that the aero-dynamics
of it all
so why do i
like ’em so much?
because they defy
they are what
no matter what
any cunt decides
they should be(e).
You, know, I thought I’d already covered music. But apparently not. So here it is, my explanation (of sorts), of my love … affinity … gravitation … toward and with music.
I’m not a genre buff per se. If I had to pick one it would have to be R&B … which is pretty wide.
But my love of music probably happened before I was even birthed lol. My Nan would sing to Me when I was little, and I actually remember some of those songs :)
Her and I would watch old movies with Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds … She also loved classical and operatic music. My Nan is where my love of Dance was nurtured <3
As I got older I was more influenced by Christian / Pentecostal ‘worship’ music, but absolutely loved Black Gospel. Theres nothing quite like the old Gospel.
My mother was / is a musician and still plays the guitar. When I was growing up I remember her music and her guitaring. She’d listen to ‘folk’ type music, like Peter, Paul and Mary … Simon and Garfunkel. Now whilst that wasn’t exactly my favourite, I guess it influenced what I was drawn too.
Because we were raised ‘Christian’, we weren’t allowed to listen to what was deemed ‘mainstream’ music. That didn’t stop Me, obviously, and made the listening to the ‘forbidden’ that much sweeter.
I’d find old cassette tapes and tape the songs that would come on the radio, as quickly as I could, before my mother got out of the shower, or returned from the supermarket lol. I kept those tapes tucked away and would listen to them when my mother was out or we went to my Grandparents. I was influenced by your mainstream ‘pop’ at the time, (the 80s), and because I was a dancer, that type of music also influenced my overall love of music.
Another great music memory for Me, is my Grandfather. I’d go to work with him when I was at their house for the holidays. This is something I absolutely loved. It is one of the few memories that I’ve clung on to over the years. It’s where my love for building and concrete and making things, comes from. And during these ‘work sessions’ with my Grandfather, he’d listen to the local radio station. I got to hear all the new songs and radio being what it is, they’d play the songs over and over, which meant I got to learn all the words :)
By the time my first daughter was born, I’d sing to her. It’s also one of the best memories I have of an extremely stressful, sad time – holding her, and rocking her and singing her to sleep.
I did the same when my second baby girl was born too, and she had the same reaction. She’d go all limp and relaxed, look at Me as I’d sing to her; smile and then go to sleep :)
And as the years went on, I was influenced by Country and Western, Heavy Metal, Rock, Jazz, Soul, Blues, Hip Hop, Underground, Thrash, D&B, House, Dub, Reggae, Ska … the list goes on. The first 2 were never my favourite genres but they still added to my ‘taste’.
I guess music has always been with Me.
It eases Me in ways I can’t explain. It helps Me to vent, focus, re focus … and as I’ve moved throughout the years, I’ve figured out what ‘does it for Me’. I’m drawn to the eerie minor keys and tones and those come in all genres. I’m not particularly drawn to lyrics as is the ‘norm’; but instead am drawn to ‘the feel’ or the ‘atmosphere’ that a piece of music gives.
It’s not something I could live without I don’t think. Although I have sensitive little ears lol, I think of all the ‘disabilities’ I wouldn’t want … the loss of hearing would be the hardest.
For Me, music holds some of my best memories I’ve got <3
I come from a family of ‘sensitives’ … sensitive skin, sensitive tummy, sensitive hearing, sensitive taste … Just sensitive all round.
And then theres the ‘other’ sensitive. The one ‘they’d’ medicate or lock you up for, if you talked about it ‘out loud’.
It’s the sensitive that see’s whats supposedly not there. That hear’s whats supposedly inaudible. That can smell subtleties that no-one else can smell. That can sense what ‘isn’t’ there.
Is this such a strange phenomenon for Indigenous? No. It’s not. And prior to the Tohunga Suppression Act of 1907, the sensitivity I’m talking about was called matakite. For mainstream though, it’s something they don’t understand and fuck up, whilst they try and understand it or distinguish it.
I always had trouble distinguishing between my dreams and nightmares and what was actually present. Both freaked Me out. And when my eldest daughter came along, and she could sense similar things, I also freaked out. Some of this was to do with the christian belief that everything that couldn’t be seen with your physical eyes, was evil; or there was something inherently evil about the ‘see-er’.
When my 2nd daughter came along, her ‘sixth sense’ about things was quite ‘organic’ and natural. It didn’t seem freaky or mystical so to speak. It just seemed normal.
By the time my mokos came along, we were all beginning to embrace what we were as pretty normal, even though we didn’t fully understand it. Moko #1 senses what isn’t seen and whats not spoken. Moko #2, can smell whats not there; she can also understand whats ‘not spoken’. Moko #3 can hear the almost inaudible; and can also see your motive; she can also sense your pain. Moko #4 can hear your motive.
And Me. Well I’m still working out the difference between whats a sensitivity and whats pts(d). But I know whats a dream now, and what isn’t. I know now, when to ask my tipuna (ancestors) for assistance and advice.
What I like the most … is that my mokos won’t struggle with all of this like I did, or like my daughter did. For them, its natural, and they’re learning how to make it work for them.
I was thinking about stuff I like … shit that makes Me feel Nice … Yah know … Just to add to my ‘365 reasons to smile’ mojo …
So I decided to google #shoeporn … because shoes are just one of most favourite-est things … well good shoes that is.
Any who … I was quite disgusted, nay appalled, at what our millennials believe is a good shoe, be-fitting the hashtag slash title of “Shoe Porn”.
Apparently a sneaker, that looks similar to what I could buy at K Mart for $14, but said sneaker has a teensy tiny little label on it, that alludes to the possibility of that shoe being a Louis Vuitton; but not actuals … well that shit is classed as ‘shoe porn’. Wtf right?
Now I’m No expert in shoes … however, there are a couplely things that place a shoe (for Me anyways) in the Shoe Porn Zone.
A. They’ve gotta be sexy. … and I don’t mean hooker boot sexy; I mean classy, Italian, Yanis Marshall dancing in them, sexy.
B. They’ve gotta suit your feet. They’ve gotta suit You.
Now, my Nan was my shoe fettish idol. She had heels for miles and her feet had arches like Naomi Campbell. I loved watching her get all dressed up to the nines, with the heels that perfectly accompanied her outfit. She was my version of quintessential elegance.
Shoes became something that I gravitated towards and unknowingly collected like other peeps collect little ceramic angels that gather dust on their shelves. Shoes were my go-to for elegance and relief. I’m a dress from the shoe up kind of girl; meaning the shoes are everything … except for the, ‘how’ you wear them.
For Me – Shoes are an Art unto themselves ;)
Heres a little sample of what I’m referring too.
My taste in shoes is obviously way overpriced … but I know my taste in shoes is also gangstah … and they make Me happy … and isn’t that all that matters really!
*Oh … I feel another shoe collection coming on ;) *
Yes, it seems a little morbid, but after recent events and conversations I decided to take matters into my own hands, and plan ahead. Properly.
After a little research I found out the following (for our country anyways) … this is ‘my’ interpreted version:
other person so unnamed: “aren’t you going to wear a bra when we go out in public?”
me: “is that a question?”
other person so unnamed: “yes”
me: “make you a deal; you wear a bra for 24 hours & then I’ll answer your question”.
other person so unnamed: *silence*