The Bra From Hell

If you have read any of my posts, you will probably know that I have this thing about bras. I admit,they're a necessity. Make that an evil necessity. Going to the store to try on bras is like auditioning for a new act for the Cirque du Soleil. Whoever is responsible for designing bras for "full figured" women has no idea what it's like to wear their creations. I've had my breast, hooters, honkers, gazoombas, boobs shoved up under my chin, pointed in strange directions, mashed flat, and other indescribable contortions.

In the interest of sanity, I decided to order a couple of "minimizer" bras online from a reputable company. I'm not sure how I feel about wearing an article of clothing that resembles an armored car. It should come with instructions and a special license to carry concealed weapons. The minimizer part of this equation creates a unique experience. Would I rather have my tender flesh oozing over the top and jiggling in everybody's face, or have it corralled, compacted and shoved under my arms? On top of that, I can't breath because part of the minimizing process apparently includes a super tight fit around the mid-drift. God forbid that it should break. I shudder at that thought.

What in the @&$^@& were these people thinking? I'm a human being, not a slab of putty to be sliced, kneaded and  molded into oddball shapes. What's next?