Back in the day when girls wore girdles or garter belts to hold up their nylons, I was a 15-year old riding from Alexandria with my mother to Concordia College in Moorhead. This was long before some women started burning bras in protest.
We parked near Fjelstad Hall where my freshman big sister was staying in the women-only dormitory. I was not allowed, so I waited quietly in our old Dodge as the dusk gathered. Room lights came on in the classic stone edifice, boasting huge windows, most with drawn curtains.
My attention was drawn to the first floor, however, when at eye level I saw a lovely co-ed dash in, perhaps stopping by her room before supper time in the college cafeteria. Bored and innocent, I watched casually from my vantage point. I was about to receive an educational first.
Quick as a wink, she bent over the bed, reached into her bra, and plop, plop out came a pair of foam falsies.
I was aghast. She left her room as quick as she came, apparently her only mission was to relieve herself of this tiresome burden. Not wishing to discuss the intimate subject, I didn’t tell mom.
