Bras

Sometimes I have a hard time coming up with posts.  I like to blame this on lack of imagination rather than the fact that I’m a loser with no life.  Better to have a fault than be a loser, right?  Last week, when I checked out Mama Kat’s Writing Prompts and saw BACON, the words practically flowed from me – rather successfully, I think.  With that success, I decided to check out this week’s prompts and saw the word BRA.  Since I have had boobs for over thirty years (early bloomer) and am well-acquainted with this particular piece of clothing it seemed like a no-brainer.

Women have a true love-hate relationship with bras.  The hate part started early on for me with Grade 6 boys grabbing the back of my bra and snapping it against my skin.  I was already self-conscious enough without that crap going down.  Societal norms dictate that we wear them but we’d probably be happier without them.  We end up spending extraordinary amounts of time and money in the search for the perfect one.  

We get out the measuring tape to get our dimensions which, of course, change throughout our lives just to make sure that we have to go through the groan-worthy task of measuring ourselves on a fairly regular basis and then go from store to store, examining styles, materials, colours, fit, etc.  This part of the experience is just as groan-worthy.  I mean really, what evil grinch designs those changing rooms?  Trying on bras is just as big a blow to the ego as trying on bathing suits.

When you find the right one, though, the clouds part, the sun beams down you and the angels sing.  The right one lifts you just the right way, contains you where it should and makes you feel damned sexy.  A woman wearing a great bra just looks, well, great!  It makes any outfit look better and it draws the eye to your “assets”.  This is where the “love” part of the relationship happens.  If you find that one great bra, you should definitely go buy a lottery ticket cuz it’s your lucky day! 

Of course, no matter how great your bra may be, there is nothing like coming home at the end of the day and setting the “girls” free.  As soon as my shoes come off, I head straight for my room and whip that thing off.  Anyone within earshot can hear the sigh that comes out of me when those hooks separate and I feel that freedom.  If only we could walk around like that all the time; I know that a lot of us would be very happy with that!

Now, of course, I have a daughter who has passed puberty and joined the bra-wearing legions.  She is inexperienced enough to not really know much about proper fit but do you think that she’ll let me see her in the bra of her choice in the store changing room?  Of course not!  She’s twelve (thirteen in September) and very shy about showing her body, even to me.  This leaves me calling directions through a closed door about what she should be looking for in fit.  Hopefully, this shyness will wear off with age and confidence; just not too quickly if her father has his way.  He asked me a couple of weeks ago (jokingly) if there was something we could give her to shrink those emerging curves and bring back his little girl.  Not likely buddy, not likely.



Kat