Sorry I’ve been away so long. Recently I experienced the sudden loss of a friend that I’m just now able to speak about. My breast friend. That’s right- I’m talking about my favorite bra. The underwire broke and “Old Beige” had to be put down… *quiet sob.* To you, this may seem like no biggie. You might be a dude in which case this post might bore you, as there won’t be any pics or video of my bra-less jubblies (or anyone else’s). Move along, pervy.
If you have breasts of any significance you know that a woman’s relationship with her bra collection is a special one. One bra style cannot serve every need. Much like a cherished group of friends, they have different personalities and strengths. You might have the “good girl”, the “beautiful one”, the “slutty one”, the “exercise buddy” and the “BFF”. And everybody should have at least one “sassy black one”. Diversity, y’all! It’s a beautiful thang!
|“We’re gonna need a bigger bra…”|
They are all important but there is always one bra you keep coming back to, day in and day out. Your go-to gal. The BFF, which of course stands for Breast Friend Forever. It can be very difficult to find a great bra for the outrageously endowed. Once you find a style you like, you’re a lifer. This bra is working overtime for those bodacious ta-tas. It’s usually not the prettiest bra, but the most comfy and dependable. It’s your heavy-duty, industrial strength workhorse. The Borax of bras. It never lets you down, except when it does- when the fabric is threadbare, your cups runneth over and the underwire fails… you know it’s time.
To get to this point I had to go through the five stages of grief:
Denial: Several months ago I was out running errands and as usual I was locked and loaded in my favorite bra. It was lifting and separating dutifully when something struck a nerve- and that nerve was right under my armpit. It was a little bit of the underwire poking through. I pulled at it, readjusted and powered through my day. It was fine.
Anger: When I got home I took my bra off and inspected it. Sure enough, a tiny hole had formed and the underwire was just peeking through the opening. This goddamn bra was $85.!! Arrgh! I don’t have time for this bullshit. I pushed the wire back in and hastily put it back on. I had shit to do. I went about my day in a foul mood. Two hours later, half the wire was coming up, practically out of my shirt and stabbing me repeatedly. Fucksticks.
Bargaining: I washed the bra and carefully hung it up to dry. I was sorry that occasionally I had dried it in the dryer. That’s a no-no. I’ll never ever do that again. Ever. Maybe I could just stitch the little hole? I can’t sew for shit… Gorilla Glue? Duct tape? I guess I’ll just pin it.
Depression: This isn’t working. Now the pin is bothering me. And these straps are shot. I never really noticed that before. I can see my nipples through this threadbare fabric and it’s not cute, even though when Current Legal Spouse sees it he says, “Oh, hellooo nipples!” and dances toward me. Um, no I don’t think so. It’s over. I can’t believe this is the end. How can you do this to me, Beigee? After everything we’ve been through? Remember that weekend in San Francisco? Good times… *sniff*
Acceptance: My friend was gone. Gone to that ladies lounge in the sky. I had a small, private ceremony by the trash can while Josh Groban played softly in the background. The song was a fitting tribute and it really did raise me up, so high. Also, I may have been drunk. Josh knows a little something about love, loss and I bet, boobs. Strange, random middle-aged stalker boobs coming at him in his dressing room nightly- but I digress. I had to get out there and find a new breast friend and fast.
You cannot wear those lacy numbers in the back of your dresser on a daily basis. You guys can think what you want, but no woman in her right mind is running around Kroger in her sexy $200 Le Mystere lingerie. Or as my friend Steve calls it, “LINGER-REE!” It’s too damn itchy. I think I wore my jog bra for three days straight, if you must know. But then I got tired of uni-boob. I’ve heard when you lose a leg or arm, you often have “phantom pains” of the lost limb still being there. I had that, too. OMG, y’all- I was a BRAMPUTEE! I would open my drawer and reach for Old Beige, but she was not there. She left a hole in my heart (and my armpit.) So when I felt ready, I went online and checked out a few prospects first. Then I met with Jean over in the “Intimates” department. Jean was matronly, cheerful and amply endowed herself. She understood my pain and loved me through it. She took me by the breast as only a woman groping another woman (in a strictly professional bra-fitting manner) could. I was measured, cupped, fastened-in and fascinated. I fell into a new relationship that fits perfectly. With several new friends in tow, I emerged from Intimates, triumphant. My heart (and my bra) will go on…
My new BFF, Nudie has not disappointed. That Jean was a bra JEANIOUS. I have a song in my heart and a spring in my chest. Not too much spring, just the appropriate amount. Let’s just say things are really looking up!
Thank you for taking this journey with me.
Can I get a Brallelujah!