BurdenedThunder

The Bra

First, finding support for these puppies is not an easy task. Big box stores are not my friend when purchasing a bra. Victoria secret? Yeah, right! She has nothing to contain my secrets. I get my braziers from a boutique that caters to the full-busted woman. They are expensive, and the color selection is limited to white or nude, but they keep feed bags in the right place. Sometimes, I will pass by racks of delicate, lacy bras and run my fingers across the soft lace, and fantasize about wearing them. I get jerked back to reality when I see that my fist fits exactly into the cup.

Second, the process to put one one is an arduous chore. I have to dislocate my shoulders, wrap my arms around my back, and latch it by touch. After I pop my shoulders back into its socket, I bend over and jiggle them into the cup.  There have been times that during this process that I lose my grip and the bra slings shots across the room, severely maiming myself and others—which is rather difficult to explain to ER doctors.

Third, taking off the bra has to be done with care. No, not because you will ruin the delicate undergarment that cost more than the pants in my closet; but because if taken off hurriedly, it results in the airbag effect.

Once the airbags are deployed, several things happen in rapid succession.  First, the sudden release of force propels the bra up into my face, my husband screams and throws himself to the ground like he’s jumping on a grenade. Second, the  TV gets knocked off its wall mount and bounces on the bed. Lastly,  my loving cat gets catapulted to the window with a resounding thunk and then slithers down the glass to a liquid fur heap on the floor. Fortunately, none of the bystanders have had to seek medical care. (Sends quick prayer up to the heavens).

It's a pain in my ass, shoulder, and back.  It's risky not wearing a bra in public.   At home, I prefer not to cage the beasts. I even went so far to install a driveway alarm just to warn me when someone pulls into the driveway. It gives me enough time to race to the bedroom and wrangle them into their keep.

There are times when my preference to do without one gets a little murky. Do I, or do I not put on that thing? To answer this, I have developed the BHV equation to calculate whether or not corral them. BHV is the Bra Hassel Variable.

BHV is calculated as round trip mileage multiplied by the day of the week, divided by the total sum of potential human contact. (Family members don’t count. You have already traumatized them so what more damage can be done!) Anything over a 50 BHV,   it is best to put on the over-shoulder-boulder-holder. Otherwise, I run the risk of doing irreparable psychological damage to the populace. I have to schedule the time to wrestle with my bra and render aid to those caught in its crossfire.

With all of the above mentioned, I would say that I hate my bra.

In closing, I would like to offer a small bit of advice to the itty bitty titty committee, don’t wish for large breasts. They are more hassle than what they are worth. If you do decide to do something about your skittle like lumps, contact me; I will be happy to donate.




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