de(tales): the bra thief

de(tales): the bra thief

de(tales): the bra thief

Natalie Trust is one of my favorite people in the world. I love her passion and fire, and her beautiful words, but most of all, I love her depth of feeling and her tender heart, whether she's talking about purity culture or something going on in one of our personal lives. If you haven't yet met her, I hope that you'll enjoy this delightfully lighthearted introduction.  de(tales): the bra thief

“Mom, have you seen my bra?” I say as I peek around the bathroom door.

“No, I haven’t. Did you leave it somewhere?” she replies.

“Mom, come on, where would I have left my bra? I’m not exactly ripping them off and flinging them into the ocean as I walk on the beach,” I laugh.

My mom and I were on a vacation in Mexico, just the two of us. It was day three of our trip, and after a morning swimming in the ocean and reading in the sun, we decided to venture into town for a late lunch and shopping, except, now I couldn’t find my bra. But how does a bra just go missing?

We search the room; delve through our luggage, in an attempt to find my nude, strapless bra.

No luck.

“Call the front desk and ask if one has been turned in by housekeeping or something,” my mom gestures to the phone in between our hotel beds.

“No way. I’m not calling down there. You call for me.”

My mom walks over to the phone, “Why? Are you afraid Julio is going to be working?” she bursts out laughing.

“Kind of, yeah,” I smile “I mean, I don’t want to entertain his flirtations by being like, ‘Oh hey! My bra is missing; will you help me find it?’ Seriously, mom, I do not want to risk him picking up the phone if I were to call.”

She dials down to the front desk, and sure enough, Julio answers.

Through broken English, he discerns I am missing, “a special piece of clothing”. And yes, they do have some of those special pieces that we can look at and identify whether or not one belongs to me. Come on down, and they will show us the goods.

Oh dear God, I think to myself, Is it even worth it?

Needless to say, my twenty-year-old self is mortified at the thought of going downstairs to see bras strewn about, my job to identify if one has, in fact, been on my body.

We head downstairs to Julio and his happy, smiling face, seemingly unfazed, as he pulls out a hanger with several bras on it, and then respectfully walks to the other end of the counter to answer the phone.

My mom and I stifle laughter as we look at the enormous bras, knowing there’s not even a remote possibility one could belong to me.

“It’s Mexico, we’re on vacation, no one cares if you’re not wearing a bra,” my mom says.

I know she’s right, but the fact of the matter is, my bra is gone, the only bra I brought with me on this trip. If it did not get caught up in the sheets and carted off to laundry then what happened to it? The only other option is someone intentionally took it, granted, it was a nice bra, but still. Strange.

We return to our room several hours later, only to find an enormous tray of fruit and Hershey’s Kisses placed on my bed, along with a note from Julio.

The note read, “I’m sorry we could not locate your special piece of clothing. Enjoy.”

This situation was getting more and more bizarre. We’re cackling in between bites of chocolate, and in a fit of amusement, my mom dials the front desk, and thrusts the phone in my face as soon as she has Julio on the line.

“Thanks so much for the fruit and the chocolate,” I say with a sweet tone while my eyes glare at my mom, horrified she’d put me up to another conversation with him.

We chat for a bit, as best we can with the language barrier. He tells me I am beautiful, and asks if I would like to go for a walk on the beach later. To which I reply, thank you and no, thank you and adios.

I was braless for the rest of our vacation and no one died (take that, Modesty Rules), but you can assume I stored all my underwear in a safe during my return trip to the same resort six years later.


Natalie TrustNatalie is a lover of Chinese food, independent films, and toffee flavored lattes. She’s  working on her memoir, Stranger in My Bed and also writes about faith and suffering and all the truths in-between over at and you can find her on twitter at @NatalieTrust.


You can check out the other de(tales) (so far) here.


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