WOULDA COULDA SHOULDA. Oh, how we wish we were there. But the next best thing to being there is when somebody tells it as you have, about your bras. Oh, sisters we just love you for it. And the hits just keep on coming.
Newly anointed TSP-sister Roadchick sent us this, after reading a TSP post on bras. We’re still laughing.
“Oh, if you could’ve heard the conversation in my office after I read this post! Hilarious.
I was fully developed at the tender age of 13 and of course I was mortified by the changes that seemed to happen overnight. My mom decided that in order to corral my new assets, we would visit The Bra Lady.
The Bra Lady was ensconced in a high rise office building somewhere in downtown Chicago. When we got there, it was no over-the-clothes measuring in the middle of ‘Intimates’, it was topless in a cramped fitting room with my mother and the scary Bra Lady.
I was measured sixteen ways to Sunday and the size (32DD) pronounced and The Bra Lady marched off to find the proper ‘garment’ after instructing me to stay “just like I was”. So I stood there, naked from the waist up, with my mom for what seemed like an eternity.
I would have stayed naked forever if it meant The Bra Lady would not have come back with a ‘nude’ bra with about 16 hooks on the back of it. I was way ahead of Madonna because no longer was I gently rounded – I had the Atomic Warheads of Doom.
It was pronounced perfect, my mom (curse her) requested five more just like it, and after writing a check that would’ve bailed out AIG, we were done.
I probably still need therapy from the humiliation of having to change for gym and everyone seeing my bra from 1948. The bra that won WWII and came home victorious.
Ugh.”
Want to rant about bras? Who doesn’t? You can. Here. And here. And, of course, you could read your own tale of woe-is-my-bra here on TSP, if you’ll send it along for consideration, to thesisterproject at gmail dot com.
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