Evelyn, 70, stood in front of her bedroom mirror, glaring. Her current enemy was her underwear.

For the past six months, Evelyn’s life had been consumed by a quest akin to finding the Holy Grail: finding a bra that fit, provided structural support, felt comfortable, and possessed wide shoulder straps that stayed put.

“Matthew,” Evelyn called out. “It’s happening again.”

Matthew, her husband of 45 years, appeared in the doorway. He wore the haunted look of a combat veteran — for good reason.

He looked at his wife. One of her bra straps had completely abandoned her shoulder, sliding down to her elbow like an inept mountaineer. The other strap was dug so deeply into her flesh it looked like it required surgical removal.

“I see,” Matthew said. “The Walmart one?”

“The Walmart one,” Evelyn spat, unhooking the contraption and throwing it into a pile dubbed the Lingerie Graveyard. “It promised ‘cloudlike comfort.’ It lies. I feel like........

© Peterborough Examiner