The bra. Now here is a device that has undergone a transformation over the years. I've been living in sports bras and non wired bras for about 3 years due to a very inconveniently placed breast tumour. Don't worry, all is well. It was removed last year and was benign. Apparently I could grow another one back. Depends on what my breast feels like doing.
I would prefer it if it didn't grow another one. When I had this one removed, I dyed my hair two days prior because I guessed I probably wouldn't be able to raise my left arm above my head for a while. (I was right, I couldn't) But in the process of dying said hair, I inadvertently dropped dye onto my right boob. Of course I didn't notice this, until I was lying on the hospital bed my breasts exposed to a group of people I had only just met. One of them was merrily drawing some sort of treasure map on the left breast around the lump with arrows and X marks the spot and as I glanced down I clocked that the right one was smeared with drops of hair dye. At which point I winced inwardly and let my head drop back to stare at the ceiling........
Fast forward to surgery, I'm down, in and out and zipped back up before I knew it. Discharged home in a flurry of activity, where I asked the oh so lovely one if she can bath me. We then proceeded to de layer me and discovered I looked like I'd been in a battle with an iodine bottle. It was like some apache ritual had taken place whilst I was asleep. Or the surgeon had thought he was basting me for roasting. Up to the left hand side of my neck, all over my left breast, down the left side of me, with splashes over my back, left arm and tummeh was a swath of pink which turned nearly bright red under my armpit. In the middle of all this sat a shockingly white little dressing. Add to that I STILL had the marker pen map on the left breast and hair dye on the right.......The GF merely raised an eyebrow, locked eyes with me, and laughter ensued. All you could hear from outside the bathroom door was the hilarity followed by, ow ow ow shit ow chortle snort.....
So zooming forward a year and I am in the market for a bra. Specifically a lift it up and at em' kinda bra. I haven't bought one of these since being at school where I used to live and die in wonder bras. (I was a double A cup. I needed all the help I could muster) but upon entering Matalan to have a look and grab a bra I was confronted by a wall a choice. And I mean a w-a-l-l. We have a leopard print gel filled strapless cross way seamless t shirt bra. Or a glitter purple inflatable maximum cleavage affair. Or how about a striped bow bedecked inserts removable multiway bra?
You can be bigger, bolder & buxom. You can have your breasts pressed so firmly together that not even a biscuit crumb could get in between them. You can be lifted, shifted & hitched from here to the skies apparently. With names such as 'the ultimate, maximum cleavage or enhanced fuller volume and all in eye wateringly bright garish colours. I feel as though I've fallen into Barbie's closet; and clearly, Barbie is a slut....As i stand there staring gorm faced and confused I muttered to the GF, 'These aren't bras? They're complex scaffolding structures design as bizarre implements of torture!' Some of them looked so bloody complicated I simply shuffled sideways to get away from them.
Feeling completely overwhelmed, and unable to even really remember what size I am, I grabbed a couple of the lesser scary looking push em' up types and headed to the changing rooms. The first one I managed to get into after figuring out the strap/strapless/crossway/halter neck combo turned out to be too small as when the thing is done up I can barely breathe and think im being asphyxiated. So pinging that one off I moved on to the other, that has so much padding in it, you could punch me in the side of the boob and I probably wouldn't feel a thing.
And let me tell you. It's like being welded into a solid metal band covered in material and cinched in around your rib cage. So after much huffing and puffing and jiggling and re-arranging, I turned around to the GF and asked what she thought. And she is stood there with her eyes on stalks and a very rakish lop-sided grin going on.
- 'Gosh....' Is all she manages. So I turn to look in the mirror. Oh my very dear god.
- 'I look like naffing Jessica Rabbit!'
- 'Yes you do!'
- 'They look enormous!'
- 'Yes they do''
- 'Bloody hell! I can't see my own feet!!!'
- *Some so of strangled yelp is heard from the corner the GF is stood in*
- 'How does it feel though? (After she regains her composure.) is it comfortable?'
In short no. It's not comfortable. Its like adorning American Rugby style padding for your boobies. But it's the least complicated, plain, non sparkly one they have, and at £8 I am not about to be picky.
Shopping mission considered a success, I extrapolate myself form the device and breathe (literally) a sigh of relief as I return myself to my non wired comfy, albeit, seen-better-days sports bra, look down and smile as I can see my feet again.
- 'Honestly, how some women wear these all the time I do not know. It's like walking around with your boobs hooked up by your ears.'
- 'I don't get it either hen.'
- 'You know, if there is a nuclear holocaust, the last thing left on this earth will be that damned bra..........'
- 'And if there isn't?'
- 'Well.....It'll make a cracking sling shot........'
Love it you and dad have the best days out XD even if it is boob holder shopping. I'm sticking with the non wired sports bras myself though I've no desire for them to be around my lugs.
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