I could totally get behind some good old fashioned bra burning right now.
Not because of feminism.
I mean, I am 100% feminist, but I don’t need to burn my bras as an offering to the goddess of feminism. I want to burn my bras for another reason.
They fucking suck.
Seriously, can’t we women just go ahead and collectively agree that we don’t wear bras anymore? Please? They’re uncomfortable and they don’t make a C minus cup. They’re always either just a little too snug, or just loose enough that the sisters feel they can make a break for it.
Regardless, which device of torture I chose to wrap myself in, that is the first thing I lose when I get home from work. Sometimes, I slingshot it across the living room, throw back my head, and howl in relief.
Okay, I don’t really do that. Except, the slingshot part. Sometimes, I do that.
What’s not to love about wearing a bra except everything? What woman doesn’t remember that first time an under wire escaped and stabbed the shit out of their boob? That shit sucks hard. You’ll be sitting at your desk, reading articles on the internet when you should be working, and you suddenly feel a pain like you are being stung by a wasp on angel dust.
What the fucking FUCK? I’ve been shot. Wait. No blood. Is…is this what a heart attack feels like?
Then, when you go to adjust, you feel the culprit. The trick is, discreetly pulling the under wire through your shirt sleeve without anyone noticing. The other trick is to consider the role of the under wire after removing the under wire. It is important to consider this before going about the rest of your day as if nothing had changed.
I had this situation happen at my old job. I pulled that under wire out of my sleeve like goddamn David Copperfield. I did not, however, consider the role the offending wire had been playing.
Randy named my breasts many years ago. Not overly original names, but they’ve stuck. Thelma and Louise. Well, Thelma still had her under wire, so Thelma was prairie dogging over the top of her cup, all bold and ready to lead. Louise? Well, Louise was resting.
I walked around for hours noticeably lopsided. I did not discover this until going into the bathroom.
You know when you get that sinking feeling and you immediately go into denial? No. No I did NOT just sit in an hour long meeting with 8 other people looking like this.
I went into the stall and took my shirt and bra off. Thelma’s under wire did not want to be evicted. I had to gnaw like a gerbil on the corner of my bra to make a hole so I could pull the other wire out.
I spent the last hour of work evenly distributed. My hope was, anyone who had seen me earlier would dismiss my lopsidedness as a trick of shadows or something. Either way, no one said anything, so I can pretend it didn’t happen.
I don’t know what I think they’d say. “Hey Michelle, have an ETA when you’ll get that report written? Also, you’re boobs are really uneven.”
I actually still have that bra. It’s wadded up and shoved in the back of my underwear drawer. It only comes out when I can’t find another bra anywhere. Other than a strapless. I have to be desperate to actually wear a strapless. I only own a strapless in the event I am suddenly invited to a fancy dress party. Which is something that has never happened and I also have bigger wardrobe problems than a strapless bra. My fanciest outfit involves leggings and a $30 pair of boots.
But I digress.
So, hit me. Tell me the best most awesomely fitting bra that doesn’t cost hundreds of dollars. I mean, unless we can all agree to give them up?