The bra situation has become desperate lately. Most have lost their powers of containment, and are tenuously hanging on by the last hook and eye. It was time for the “Try and Find a Bra Without Breaking Down in the Fitting Room” annual marathon.
Bra shopping is one of my least favorite activities – it’s right up there with dentist visits, toe stubbing, and bee stings. I hate it and avoided it like the plague until the situation became so absolutely dire that my husband said, “Why do your boobs look so crooked?” Yeah, that would be my bra, ’cause last time I checked they weren’t crooked – a little droopy, but not crooked.
So, it was off to the mall for a little bra shopping skirmish.
Three hours and four stores later, I walked out of the mall with my crooked bra and a bad case of boob anxiety. I sat in my SUV, tightly grasping the steering wheel and cursing the bra manufacturers. “Why, why, WHY must this be so difficult?!?” I whined to the empty passenger’s seat.
Next up was the internet. I figured there had to be a vast bra wonderland that I had yet to discover. After hours of searching, reading reviews, measuring, re-measuring and sending up a little prayer, I had narrowed my bra scavenger hunt down to fourteen shiny new models. Why so many? Because as every bra warrior knows, not one bra fits the same as another. Finding the right fitting bra is like trying to solve the mystery of dark matter… it’s freakin’ impossible.
Two days later, a big box of bras arrived at the farm. I tore into that package like a little kid at Christmas time. Certainly, I believed, this was the answer to my bra deficit.
One bra, two bras, three bras… no.
Five bras, six bras, seven… uh oh.
Eight bras, nine, ten, eleven, twelve… GASP
Nope, nada, nein. Zip, zero, zilch.
I silently cursed the bra gods.
Utterly defeated, I shoved everything back into the box and sent it back to the bra hell from whence it came.
In the meantime, I optimistically continue my crusade for the perfect bra, crooked boobs and all.