Monday, March 11, 2013

The Bane Of My Life

At  almost 13, I could not wait to get my first one.  I pestered my mother until she took me to the Emporium "Foundations Department" and had a sales lady help select my first bra.

I tried on the slightly padded 28 triple A cup and felt like a bona fide sex bomb!  Okay, the bra was cotton and had a tiny bow between the cups, no lace or sexy stuff at all, but it was a bra!  I really couldn't wait to get to gym class to show it off.  (Sadly, I've always felt that way about my underwear.  I know, that's not ladylike, but it is what it is.)

Fast forward 30 years.  Walking in the house after work the only thing on my mind was to get that mutha fugga off of me as soon as the front door closed behind me.  Bras had become my worst enemy.

I wear a 38 D bra.  In other words, I need an underwire to give me support.  While I'm all about the support, is it necessary to have a steel wire to hold me in place?  Bras have to be the most uncomfortable clothing item every made.  The bands are constrictive and they impair my ability to breathe.  The wires dig into my flesh.

I've tried different styles of bras over the years, including some without the underwire.  Unfortunately, my boobs will slip right past the place the underwire should be and be effectively cut in half.  That seriously is not my best look.

I can walk for miles in stiletto shoes and never complain.  I can sit for hours at the salon letting people put weird chemicals on my hair to give me that perfect natural champagne moonlit platinum blond color and never complain.  But I hate bras the same way some people hate spiders or rattlesnakes.  (Actually, I have no real problem with spiders or rattlesnakes.)  I have more hatred for bras than I have for serial killers and that i guess is saying something.

If it was acceptable to do so, I would walk around with my hands securely cupping my bosoms to hold them in place but I'm afraid that might give me the wrong kind of reputation not to mention attention.  I do see some women jiggling along the street untethered by a bra, but it's not really a great look for women in their 60's. 

So be forewarned.  If you come to my house and I expect you, I will put on a bra for your visit.  If you do not tell me you are coming, all bets (and bras) are off.