pre-pubescent ARGH!

Forget what the manuals say about raising children. The people who wrote it are idiots. You've got endless useless pages on how to teach them to dress, and how to make proper mushy peas, and how to give them mouth-to-mouth resuscitation if they go unconscious but not one-- not a single one!-- tells you about the most traumatic, horrifying, heart-squeezing event that can ever happen to the parent of a girl.

Yes... I speak of The First Bra.

I'd been preparing for this, you see. I like women; I grew up surrounded by the blessed creatures. I don't understand them, but most of the time I know when to nod, shake my head, and utter tripe that they want to hear. If anyone wants pointers, I can be reached through my agent.

Any case, I knew around the same time that Mira first batted her eyes at a male (that was at five weeks if a day), that I'd have to worry about things like dating, monthlies, and bras. Dating and monthlies I think I've got down pat-- beat on one, let them beat you for the second. Bra shopping... ah, bra shopping is one of the great mysteries. Right up there with Stonehenge and the answer to "Do I look fat in this?" (I'm working on it, boys, never fear)

The day started off normal enough. I was chopping the veg for some lunch time pasta salad. To my right, stirring the risotto, was CJ. CJ came into my house by way of Billy; she was Billy's wife's best friend. She was also the scariest person to walk the earth. Not by appearance, mind-- she's rather pretty if you're into small women with hair that looks like it's been set on fire. CJ writes and directs the freakiest movies I've ever had the misfortune of watching. I have no idea how she and Jillian, Billy's wife, became best friends. They're practically polar opposites.

Example of CJ's insanity: ten minutes earlier, when asked about what she'd want for lunch, she replied "Pasta. Mini-shell pasta with a really nice, thick red sauce."

Me: "Oh, you like tomatoes?"

She shrugged. "I'm kind of indifferent but the shells remind me of Irving's toupee and I really, really need to visualise it covered in blood as I crack it open with my teeth. Maybe have some shrimp in there and we can pretend it's his brains. No, wait-- peas would be more accurate."

Scared yet?

Actually, I'm not quite sure why she was living with me at the time. Billy probably talked me into it because Jill talked himinto it. Strangely enough, CJ hasn't murdered me yet, so I assume it will be in the library with a monkey wrench by next Tuesday.

I digress.

CJ was stirring risotto, I was chopping, Mira was supposedly in the dining room doing homework. Except she wasn't; she'd come in, hands behind her back, smile plastered on her face. I instantly went on alert. That smile had hints of Sam in it and nothing that came from Sam's sense of humour ever bode well for my mental well-being.

"Yes, love?" I asked. Beating them to the chase was a good strategy. You struck first, you get to watch the reaction.

"Papa, I need to go shopping."

Mira didn't usually want to go shopping but the books said that pre-teens sometimes changed their attitudes completely. Something about wanting to grow up. I could handle that.

"Sure thing, Elf." I sent the green onions into a stack on a tray and started working on shelling peas. "We can go as soon as we finish lunch."

She dipped her head to one side and smiled wider. Her eyes got bigger too. She was planning something evil! She knew I couldn't resist it when she did the big-blue-eyed thing. "May I go by myself?"

I narrowed my eyes. I read about the wanting-to-get-away-from-the-parents too but I wasn't too keen on it. "Why?"

Leaning forward to rest her arms on the counter, Mira asked, "Are you sure you want to know?"

I put down my knife. "I'm positive."

She sighed, her eyes swinging for a moment in CJ's direction. Something went on there, some secret female psychic connection because CJ smiled knowingly. I'm sure that Jack Nicholson had that smile copyrighted but here she was doing it anyway.

"Papa, I need to buy a bra."

All right, I didn't really hear those words. What I heard was:

"Mumble schmumble pervy boys ogle my chest."

My heart seized. "Whaaaat?"

"Mumble schmumble pervy boys ogle my chest!" Mira repeated.

I shook my head rapidly, trying not to do something stupid like faint onto my knife or attempt to claw out the eyes of every male in London. "I'm sorry, love, don't think I heard you right."

My daughter let out another deep breath, looking once more in CJ's direction. I'm not sure I wanted her to take female cues from a psychopath. I should really start charging CJ for room and board.

"Do you want me to go with her instead?" asked CJ.

For a minute, I thought about it. She wasn't likely to push Mira towards those lacy nothings that I'd seen around. Besides, it would be rather strange to go bra shopping with my daughter. I admit, I was greatly tempted to foist off my responsibility but in the end my conscience won out. I was going to be a responsible, modern, mature father about this.

"You can come along if you want," I said, using all my skills as an actor to sound nonchalant. "I'm sure it will be rather boring."

You know those words would be harbringers of doom

It was off to Marks & Spencer after lunch. Not that the pasta tasted like anything but cardboard. Mira and CJ went straight for the lingerie section as though pulled in by a tractor beam. I had to brace myself at the entrance first and take a few calming breaths. By the time I caught up, they were already elbow deep in the undies.

"What about this one?" CJ pulled out a wired, satiny number.

Mira started to make some sort of answering gesture but I intervened. "Isn't that a bit too much, erm---" I cupped my hands helplessly-- "support for a twelve-year-old?"

The girls traded looks-- I was beginning to hate those-- and delved back into the racks.

CJ held out something shimmery with an blue pattern. "This one?"

I choked. My last date had worn that exact same bra. "No!" I squawked.

Mira rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck, and returned to the shelves with CJ in tow. What they came back with was beyond horriffic.

"Those aren't bras," I pointed out.

Mira looked at the two she was holding. CJ looked at her two. "They aren't?" they chorused.

"No, those are fabric samples held together by elastics." I flicked the red one in Mira's hand. "Why bother even wearing one?"

CJ rolled her eyes. "The first one had too much support. This one doesn't have enough. If you're such an expert, why don't you find something?"

"Fine, I will!" What commenced afterward involved closing my eyes and reaching for the nearest shelf. "What about this one?"

Mira took the box and turned it around. "Papa, this is a sports bra."

So it was. "Well, it's got enough material for what you need." I gave the large expanses of very unsexual grey cotton-polyester an approving nod.

She shrugged. "I guess I can get two of these."

"Brilliant!" I smiled, relieved. "Let's go then--"

"But what about all the other days?"

"Then buy five more."

CJ crossed her arms. "She can't wear sports bras all the time, Orli."

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Bras are like outfits," she explained. "It's an accessory."

I let out an impatient puff of breath. "And here I thought it was a functional article of clothing."

"You're a man; you would think that." Putting an arm around Mira's shoulders, she asked, "Do you just have tighty whities under those jeans?"

I narrowed my eyes and took a quick look around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. Huddling closer, I said, "I don't see what that has to do with anything! I'm an adult whereas Mira is just a--"

CJ gave my arm a warning pinch. I drew back, my gaze snapping to Mira involuntarily. The sports bra boxes were in one hand but the other hung on to a satiny number with wishful stubbornness. She was... She was...

She was wearing a very stylish shirt with a smart, graphic design on it. Her shoes matched the top's colours and her hair had ribbons woven through some very thin braids. Come to think of it, I couldn't remember the last time she asked me to help her fix her hair. The knuckles of her hands were prominent and scraped by football games. Her cheekbones were becoming more prominent, too-- no more round softness to cup in my hand when she cried. Not that she cried much any more.

Oh, damn...

She was growing up wasn't she?

"Mira's just a young lady," I amended softly, "who really should be getting more bras instead of hearing about her old man's underpants."

She smiled cautiously. I kissed her forehead.

"Go on, then. I thought I saw matching panties to that one."

Mira and CJ went off, giggling like-- well, like school girls. I sat down on the bench and rubbed my chest right over where something was throbbing with sweet pain. I don't want to lose my baby, damn it all. I just... couldn't.