Little Bow Bleep

pretty bows

The bows I cut off my new bra in a fit of rage.

Pretty bows, aren’t they? Sure, they’re pretty until they are sewed in a “strategic” place on a bra; right in the armpit. Don’t bother moving your arms because you will end up with chaffing from hell. Why do they even put those bows on anyway? Do they want me to say, “Hey, look at my armpits, aren’t they beautiful?!” In general I look for two things: comfort and practicality. In a bra, all I need is something to support the girls and maybe give the illusion that I actually possess them. Jack of Most Trades obviously knows my chest situation, so the push up bra isn’t going to succeed in tricking him into making debateable decisions and later disappoint. I need the push up for more practical reasons, like keeping my clothes up and preventing strangers from shuddering.

I could technically walk around all free bird-like; it’s not like they’re going to sag on me. I think that’s frowned upon though so I wear these stupid wired cup things with a tight strap that hugs me uncomfortably like a long lost Great Aunt that either doesn’t comprehend the “hug’s over tap” or just doesn’t give a damn. I can’t breathe. This gives me anxiety just thinking about it.

I can’t tell you the number of times I have set out to find the PERFECT BRA. As mentioned previously, I’m not interested in the lace, bows, bells, whistles or otherwise. I don’t care if it is the ugliest thing on this planet. If it stays put and feels like a Care Bear cloud, nothing else matters in this world. But alas, I have come home each time empty-handed, braless, hopeless, or the odd time, whipping a pretty-in-pink sexy lace number complete with armpit bows in circles around my head.

With determination and a strong will to live wild and partially free, I will prevail.

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