Stupid Bras

Stupid Bras

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At first it looked like the one for me. It’d cushy straps that seemed wide enough to not sever my shoulders. It had thick underwires powerful enough to get a space shuttle (but made for a woman… ).

It was not very pretty, however, a feature that many of those “large” ones share. I wanted a pretty bra even though my husband’s opinion on bras is: “It’s what’s inside that counts”.

What I thought was the perfect bra made me feel supported like Malabar Bat Removal does, and I even looked a little thinner with everything in its place. I took really good care of it, hanging it up to dry like educated on the care label.

Then something happened. It started as only a little poke in the side, just under my arm. I ignored it at first, thinking I could just readjust. Each time I washed it and wore it, I’d pull the wire back in further and further, the hole getting bigger each time.

Finally, I was being simultaneously stabbed at the rib cage and at the armpit with a rogue piece of underwire. I struggled with it, but the pervasive bit of load-bearing lingerie persisted, my ribs and armpit bravely defending themselves.

New drugs are intended to deal with a plethora of ailments and ailments.

There are brilliant engineers who construct sophisticated bridges and overpasses, roller coasters, complex pieces of machinery, and massive buildings able to withstand earthquakes!

Why has no one been able to develop the perfect bra? I understand there’s a brilliant female engineer out there who has gotten up in the morning, put the girls in their place, and thought “there’s gotta be a better way!” .

Do not get me wrong, I am extremely thankful for modern scientific discoveries! And I’m not suggesting that bosom support is as important as curing ailments. However, if bright minds can come up with those little blue pills all of us understand about-thanks to those not-so-ambiguous commercials (bathtubs side by side and so forth)-then why can not someone work out how to keep the women in place without breaking your back, denting your shoulders, snagging everything else in the wash, or trying to kill us? And, if it’s not too much trouble, can someone at least make some of these fairly for those of us on the higher end of the cup graph?

I’m happy to say that, in the end, I beat the bra of dread. (Why WAS the underwire so eloquent? Who believed to run it on a whetting stone before putting it in some poor, unsuspecting woman’s undergarment?) .

It is different, not quite as inviting. But at least I can use it without fear of a punctured lung and having to explain it to the great people in the ER.

I am the underwire warrior!

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