At first he seemed like the one for me. He had comfortable straps that seemed wide enough not to cut into my shoulders. It had thick underwires strong enough for a space shuttle (but made for a woman…).
Of course, it was not very pretty, a characteristic shared by many of the “greats”. I wanted a nice bra even though my husband’s opinion on bras is, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
What I thought was the perfect bra made me feel supported, and I even looked a little slimmer with everything in place. I took very good care of it, hung it up to dry as directed on the care tag.
Then something happened. It started as a small pinprick in her side, just below her arm. I ignored it at first, thinking it might readjust me. Every time I washed it and put it on, I pulled the wire deeper and deeper, and the hole got bigger and bigger.
Eventually, I was stabbed simultaneously in the ribcage and armpit by a rogue hoop. I struggled with it, but the dominating piece of lingerie persisted, my ribs and armpit valiantly defending themselves.
Every day we read about new scientific discoveries. Scientists have sent people into space. The new drugs are designed to treat a large number of disorders and foods. Every time a new drug is released on the market, we see the commercials that end with a soft-spoken narrator muttering that his drug “may cause…” and then quickly rattling off a terrifying list of side effects, looks like everything from high blood pressure to stigmata!
There are brilliant engineers building sophisticated bridges and flyovers, roller coasters, complex machinery, and large buildings capable of withstanding earthquakes!
Why has no one been able to develop the perfect bra? I know there’s a brilliant engineer who woke up in the morning, put the girls in their place, and thought, “There has to be a better way!”
Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely grateful for modern scientific discoveries! And I’m not suggesting that breast support is as important as curing disease. But if brilliant minds can find those little blue pills we’re all familiar with, thanks to those not-so-ambiguous commercials (bathtubs side by side, etc.), then why can’t someone figure out how to keep girls 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 them pretty for those of us at the higher end of the cup chart?
I’m happy to say that, in the end, I won the bra on terror. I used his own little worn area against him and pulled the killer hoop right away! (Why was the hoop so sharp? Who ever thought of running it through a whetstone before putting it in some poor unsuspecting woman’s underwear?)
It’s not the same, it’s not as supportive. But at least I can put it on without fear of puncturing a lung and having to explain it to the good folks in the ER.
I’m the warrior with hoops!
