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smokingbootWhy do bras and shoes always die in tandem? My pointies have exploded in all directions, stiletto shoes of old age, bras of...I don't know, whatever bras die of, love exhaustion, heat exhaustion, excess creaking, madonna imitation, strap mismanagement... See - and this is where my folly may become too much for the XYs among us, for which reason I now employ the cut -
Between you and me, don't you think that having breasts the same shape all the time is a bit sad? I have enjoyed all sorts of different bras, push up, plump up, round up, point up, point out point sideways, pointless...from those funky speedo bras that flatten you and make you feel faster when you run, to heavy industrial machinery that might just pass for armour in the right circumstances, I can have fun with them all.
Strapped into security the moment my mother saw me hit the dreaded heights of 33AA (she bought me my first bra, a funky white and yellow checked thing tenderly guarding the nil points I had to put in it) I've always worn them, first, cos running without them became uncomfortable, second cos there's no reason to look like a photo out of National Geographic till you have to. So why do the bastards fall apart on me every 20 seconds? All this wiring that helps keep the faith, well OK, give the bras they are supposed to enhance a couple of washes and observe. Like sappers pushing wicks down siege tunnels (interesting imagery, I'm on form today) they inch out of the lining, ready to spike your bosom at the first opportunity. Or you suddenly notice, under your arm or at the back where the hooks and eyes are, the actual material has laddered, broken, split, gone home and given up on you, laughing as it leaves. This is nothing to do with you, however much you try to blame yourself. You can be tiny, you can be huge, your bra is going to betray you because it hates you.
And what a chore they are to buy. Thank god I have a boyfriend; I can never remember my size. All those numbers and letters what the hell do they mean? Is it width of back, depth of scoop, pointyness, hardness, highness, does anyone know why this is so complicated? Some have those doodads of diamante or lace between the breasts which look so pretty and then scratch up your cleavage into raw racetrack. Others have contraptions at the back which, in theory, you push up and down the straps to make the bra tighter/loser. Actually, all they do is slide to a default half way down your back, leaving you with a floppy loop at your shoulder, and cups that slip forward under the eyes of one's no doubt grateful but possibly startled company. Most are too polite to comment. The others you must kill, before they sell your story to the papers.
So, Saturday's shopping list: Bras, shoes, something pretty to wear clubbing that night.
Life is just too hard.
On another subject, for those who doubt my demise by cannibalism, here is a much more likely way for me to go:
Between you and me, don't you think that having breasts the same shape all the time is a bit sad? I have enjoyed all sorts of different bras, push up, plump up, round up, point up, point out point sideways, pointless...from those funky speedo bras that flatten you and make you feel faster when you run, to heavy industrial machinery that might just pass for armour in the right circumstances, I can have fun with them all.
Strapped into security the moment my mother saw me hit the dreaded heights of 33AA (she bought me my first bra, a funky white and yellow checked thing tenderly guarding the nil points I had to put in it) I've always worn them, first, cos running without them became uncomfortable, second cos there's no reason to look like a photo out of National Geographic till you have to. So why do the bastards fall apart on me every 20 seconds? All this wiring that helps keep the faith, well OK, give the bras they are supposed to enhance a couple of washes and observe. Like sappers pushing wicks down siege tunnels (interesting imagery, I'm on form today) they inch out of the lining, ready to spike your bosom at the first opportunity. Or you suddenly notice, under your arm or at the back where the hooks and eyes are, the actual material has laddered, broken, split, gone home and given up on you, laughing as it leaves. This is nothing to do with you, however much you try to blame yourself. You can be tiny, you can be huge, your bra is going to betray you because it hates you.
And what a chore they are to buy. Thank god I have a boyfriend; I can never remember my size. All those numbers and letters what the hell do they mean? Is it width of back, depth of scoop, pointyness, hardness, highness, does anyone know why this is so complicated? Some have those doodads of diamante or lace between the breasts which look so pretty and then scratch up your cleavage into raw racetrack. Others have contraptions at the back which, in theory, you push up and down the straps to make the bra tighter/loser. Actually, all they do is slide to a default half way down your back, leaving you with a floppy loop at your shoulder, and cups that slip forward under the eyes of one's no doubt grateful but possibly startled company. Most are too polite to comment. The others you must kill, before they sell your story to the papers.
So, Saturday's shopping list: Bras, shoes, something pretty to wear clubbing that night.
Life is just too hard.
On another subject, for those who doubt my demise by cannibalism, here is a much more likely way for me to go:
| smokingboot dives off building | |||
And misses the pool by mere inches | |||
| 'What will your Headline be?' at QuizGalaxy.com | |||
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Date: 2006-09-29 05:49 pm (UTC)