Okay dear readers, I'm about to share a deep dark secret. I have only one bra. No, wait. I have a second, but it has been deemed "the backup." Oh, it feels so good to get that off my chest, pardon the pun.
I have what one might call gigantic breasts. Huge. Enormous. Oh. My. God. "How does she carry them" breasts. Men think they are a gift, I think they are a curse. I pray for a day where my husband can feel the weight and pain of carrying these bad boys around. Then let's hear him rant about them. Ha.
So, I have this one bra. It cost me $40, which is pretty cheap considering how much material went into making the damn thing. It almost totally supports me and my boobs don't look like misshappened overinflated basketballs in it. You'd be surprised at how common a problem that is. Anyway. It's blue, with wide straps and 4 clamps in back. I learned long ago to kiss 1 and 2 clamped bras goodbye. My backup looks exactly like it, only it's missing the underwires. It's my laundry day backup bra.
I'm over at a friends house and she's folding her laundry. About 10 minutes go by and I notice she has pulled out about 7 bras. Cute bras. 1 clamp bras. Bras that probably cost her $10 at most. In that instant, I hate her. I hate her perky bosom, I hate her pretty braziers , and I hate my boobs a little more.
My step-(monster) mother just sent me some pictures from the trip to Hell. In them, I am sitting Indian-style on the floor, my precious sitting up so pretty in front of me, and all you can focus on is my humongous tatas. Whoa. Something's gotta give, and I think it's gonna be my back. Again. And I think to myself, while staring in horror at the image on my computer screen, my one "good" bra is not doing such a great job at doing what it's supposed to.
It's time to retire her and get a new one "good" bra. Bleh.