So I was reading this article written by a butch girl on her recent bra shopping experience, wherein she laments her paltry collection of only three bras. Mostly, I spent the time relating to her on how creepily and aggressively heteronormative the Victoria’s Secret store is, and how totally skeeved it makes me to even be near that place.
Especially after my one doomed “fitting” whereafter I was told I am absolutely too fat for that store, and that I have been since 6th grade.
But then, flashback to this morning when I was celebrating my newly clean bra and Ben asked
“Do you only own one bra?”
Yes, you are looking at a mono-bra. In the sad, pent-up, uncomfortable and sometimes too sweaty flesh.
Dear reader, I only own one bra.
But, you have huge tits! I can hear you protest, and it’s true. I do have huge tits. Huge, floppy tits and only one sad bap sack to sack ’em in.
The reality is that several things were permanently lost in the move. In this instance lost means tossed out in a fit of short-sighted rage at the sheer amount of shit I fucking own. Remember when I lived in a car? Nobody asked how many bras I owned then. Actually, I think it was at least two. But I digress.
I asked my Facebook friends how many bras they own, and among those friends who wore bras, it seemed to be an average of 5-7, depending on which bras “count” as bras. (We decided that the bra graveyard is more of a memorial than actual wardrobe option.)
The truly sad part is that my single bra is really uncomfortable. It’s not meant for this kind of carriage. It’s more of an “I’m red, my cups overflow, please ignore my giant gut” kind of a thing. As much as my body takes a toll on the bra, we know every action has an equal and opposite reaction, which is why I’m seriously considering home surgery over here. Whether on the bra or on myself, I have yet to decide.
And all of you adorable, perky-titted B cups just shut the crap up, if I could go without a bra, I so would; you know I would. But I need to tie these fuckers up or they get confused for balls. I’m already manly enough, thank you.
I need a new bra. But first, I need some new money. Life’s eternal struggle: dealing with tits.
You guys, if I started a Kickstarter for tit comfort, would you pledge to it? I promise I’ll never ask for anything ever again. Not even when I get cancer.
Just kidding. You know I’m going to have a serious drama llama when it’s the big C. So, you know, save some cash for that.