by marionroach on August 7, 2010
THE BRA’S BIRTHDAY. Now there is something to celebrate, sisters. And a centennial birthday, at that. Imagine: 100 years have gone by since the first American woman said—now repeat after me, sisters—“How in the world am I going to these into that?” Oh, yes, sisters, let’s light some birthday candles and throw a few bras on the pyre, since it’s a birthday you don’t want to miss. [click to continue…]
by marionroach on February 19, 2010
OUR BRAS. IN TRANSLATION. Is it just us, or do they look bigger in French?
by marionroach on September 8, 2009
by marionroach on July 28, 2009
MENOPAUSE MADE ME DO IT. It’s my new favorite shield phrase, though I do find that from behind its protection come some of the more surprising things I’ve said in my lifetime. These phrases just seem to hurtle from me, and while I must admit that they feel so good as they tumble out, even I am sometimes surprised when I hear them go whizzing by. Consider, for instance, what I recently screamed out my car window about my boobs. [click to continue…]
by marionroach on May 25, 2009
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. [click to continue…]
by marionroach on May 5, 2009
Sisterhood can involve a lot of shoveling.
YOU ARE A SISTER WHEN biology determines it, of course, but then there are those myriad jeweled or jagged moments in life when you know you are a sister, whether that sister be biological, adopted or befriended. Like Tinkerbell herself, these moments of recognition come sifting down through the ethos and can stop us or start us, depending on what we are doing. Just the other day I was simply putting away a suitcase, and suddenly it was 1974, and I was unpacking an entirely different suitcase in what now seems like an entirely different life. [click to continue…]
by marionroach on April 29, 2009

B RAS HAVE NEVER BEEN FUNNY until now. I have never–and I am not making this up–found this topic funny until I started to write about it, and you started to write back. Laughing and crying my way through your comments, I have been renewed, reborn, reworked in ways no boob job could deliver. And I only wish I could publish those emails sent privately, but I won’t. Really. Don’t beg. But I will do this: give you this video treat, sent to me on email; a gift from a sister reader. Enjoy.
by marionroach on April 21, 2009
YOU KNOW YOU’RE A SISTER when you’re trying on a bra, and every bra nightmare you’re ever had comes sling-shotting back at your self-esteem as if loaded and launched from a 44DD, and you start to get just the eensiest bit hostile in the dressing room at the pooches and the pouches, and how you look nothing whatever like a Victoria’s Secret model, and you leave 19 bras in the dressing room, buying none, and go crying to the car and call your sister. [click to continue…]