the one where i wear bras on my head

We ladies like the feel of a new bra. Unlike a pair of well worn, broken in jeans, we like a bra who’s elastic is still confident and springy. We like a bra who’s fit is right (If you don’t know what I mean, get yourself measured by a professional. It’s worth the time and exposure in front of a stranger. Truly.) We enjoy the fabric smooth and unstained by time...Secret or Degree. Or that new sweater that you thought was fairly color safe. But as it turns out, you were wrong.

There is just something gratifying in the coming home from that demanding shopping trip, opening your chest of drawers (or other undergarment keeping place), and tucking away new bras as you admire their charming lace and pleasing colors. It is confidence boosting to know you’ll be a cutting a smooth silhouette the next time you wear that bleeding sweater...

After 25+ years of bra wearing experience I have realized that it is worthwhile to make bra shopping an event. So I treat myself to the semi-annual BUY 2 GET 2 sale at my favored bra hawker (which does NOT start with “V” and end with “Secret”). I turn it into an Olde Fashioned Bra Trying On Party. I stick with some tried and true styles of the past. Give something new a chance. Add an interesting color or piece of lace. Replace that comfy cotton t-shirt bra whose elastic has lost its zing. Stay away from gimmicky tassels and over-sized bows...Always purchase one new nude bra.

But we’ve only covered the up side, thus far. If you’ve gone through this chore you know what I mean to when alluding to the down-side of bra shopping. We’ll even skip past the jungle that is the bra racks and its cruel tricks that include, but are not limited to, a love-at-first-sight experience with a very cute color/pattern that’s unlike anything in your current undergarment assortment at home only to find all that’s left hanging on the rack are three 32A’s, one 38B, and two 42FFF's.

We’ll jump right into the trauma that goes on in the dressing room.First, you’ve got to fight with those little plastic hangers that might as well be made of sporks and Pick-Up-Sticks once you introduce rigid, doubled pieces of elastic.

Then you’ve gotta play, “Pin the strap length on the sliding mechanism apparatus thingie!”

Next comes that whole seeing yourself naked in tri-fold, triplicate, and florescent mood lighting.

Then comes...
Going around your butt to get to your elbow maneuver of getting the thing on.
Realizing that you hate it and it’s the most uncomfortable thing ever to wrap around your body.
Wondering if you may have broken a rib.
Realizing you have broken a sweat.
Scratching your delicate skin with an inanely placed security tag.
Scratching your delicate skin with an inanely placed price tag.
Scratching your delicate skin with an inanely placed tag that claims this bra can make your breast do things no breast can possibly do...without the assistance of a plastic surgeon.
Realizing you have fabric burn below your arm pits.
And maybe a rash.
Realizing that last bra may have actually been fairly comfortable. But you may be misremembering and confused by the current bra you’re wearing that is cutting off the oxygen supply to your brain. And darn it, you may have to try the prior bra on again...once the feeling returns to your arms...
Having a good laugh when the bra labeled “plunge” makes your girls look like the only plunge they’re taking is a sky diving expedition.
Having a good cry when the bra labeled “plunge” makes your girls look like the only plunge they’re taking is a sky diving expedition.

As I was in the dressing room this afternoon fighting with less than a yard of elastic and lyrcra permeated fabric I could overhear the conversation of a husband and wife who were also partaking in the semi-annual “Pretend Bra Shopping Is Fun!” Event.

He begrudgingly brought her new sizes and colors as she bemoaned from behind the dressing room walls, “Why does this one feel like it’s smothering me?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!”

He sighed heavily. She nearly cried.

He grew impatient. She soldiered on.

He contended he really liked the last one. She maintained it tried to smother her.

He huffed. She tried to appease.

And so I said, “Dude, why don’t you man-up and try on three or four of these things while your skin gets all irritated and pink and you lose sensation in your rib cage. And then I want you to tell your wife how much you appreciate that she’s trying to pick out a pretty bra that she thinks you’ll find sexy. Follow that with a reassuring embrace in which you don’t try to unhook anything while you declare how much respect you have for her and the strong woman she is who endures bra shopping, let alone having to wear one of those contraptions everyday!!!".

Alright, so I didn’t say it out loud...