Bras, the women’s bane. Flesh diggers. Uncooperative straps that conveniently slip down when someone happens to be looking. Impossible to coordinate with a tank top.
I think women of the late sixties had the right idea. Burn, baby, burn.
But, I have resigned myself of the necessary evil and the time had come for some new ones.
I’ve bought them for roughly 30 years, I should be an old pro at this, right?
Haha.
I steer my shopping cart towards the lingerie department, or as I like to call it, the "Department of Naughty Bits with Fancy Hangers." Actually I never call it that, but that's what you do in a blog...try to sound clever. Which was obviously, as my daughter would say, an epic fail.
As I stare (and try not to stare) at all the rows of boobless boob holders, I feel slightly overwhelmed. So, I take a deep breath and start the search for my size.
This I can easily locate and I feel a little sprinkle of relief. And then, very quickly, disappointment and frustration. So I move on to the next color or type...find the size...more disappointment and frustration. This continues for about 20 minutes.
Why are you so vexed, Emily? Well, I'd like to say I'm too sexy for my bra, but that would be just another clever epic fail. My main problem with these bras...well, gripe.... is, it seems that society has deem that my size is inferior.
It needs fixed!
It needs pushed up!
Padded!
And…. gelled? What the-?
It’s extremely difficult to find a bra in my size that isn’t one of these three things. And I don't want any of this....why?!?
Guess what, bra manufacture? I LIKE my size! Huh. Go figure! (No pun intended).
Nothing against you big busted ladies….trust me, there is more than a few times I longed to be busty, hypnotizing guys with my cone-like banzgoas (or whatever you call them).
But over the years, I learned to accept and love myself for what I have. Trust me, it's been a long and winding road.
I’m me people….unpushed, unpadded, and most definitely ungelled!
Am I the only one in this world that doesn’t feel the need for “breast enchantment”? ( poof...ta-da! It’s the magical breasts!)
Apparently so, judging by the unholy selection of fake boobie bras.
So, what does it mean, Ladies? It means, Susan B. Anthony is spinning around in her grave for the umpteenth time, that’s what. There she goes again folks, the Great Twirling Corpse. If “50 Shades of Grey” wasn’t enough for the poor ol’ gal….
But we have to face facts: our self-esteem is still and probably forever linked to our boobs.
Anyway, after I dismiss the fantasy of a flamethrower in the lingerie department…. I sigh heavily, pick out the damn bra and toss it in the cart.
Only moderately padded, but the least padded I could find.
And yes, it was pink and lacey, if you must know.
Sorry Susan. :(
