Husband: Want to go out to eat at your favorite restaurant tonight?
Me: Tonight? I already took off my bra.
There’s nothing sexy about this post folks. This is just a practical guide to what it means when a woman takes off her bra.
At least, this woman.
It means, I’m done. This day is over.
My husband thinks it means this night is beginning. This isn’t his blog.
You see, my girls have been locked down and pushed up all day with the perfect combination of wire, spandex, leverage and pressure. For this I am truly grateful. Any apparatus that does its part to keep me from having thin droopy sacks of skin where my breasts used to be, has my utter appreciation (pun intended).
I still remember watching my grannie pinwheel her boob sacks into her bra. I was three. That shit made an impression. Bras are your friend. I get it.
Despite that, at some point, my girls need to be free of their confines. Wires poke. Spandex binds. I need freedom.
So, when I’ve calculated that I’m done with hard labor, done being outside and amongst the public, the bra comes off. And I smile. And say, “Ahhhh!” And I give them a little scratch (they’ve had no oxygen all day…it dries the skin). And I may even skip a little…skipping in joy. Cue tweeting birds, and frolicking bunnies.
Unfortunately, the kids in the neighborhood didn’t get the memo, and my son and his friends are getting to an age, where the bra needs to stay on longer than I like. I’m working on an alternative… so I can avoid the building resentment of my jail time…but it needs some work.
“Kids mommy’s taking off her bra, play outside tonight, no kids in the house,” EVERY NIGHT seems unfair. Plus I don’t want to hear the inevitable, “You can’t come in… my mom already has her bra off.” That’s just a little too Honey Boo Boo for me.
Sometimes I miscalculate my escape. People, you do not want to be around me if I’ve had to recorral the girls. It’s not pleasant. I’M not pleasant.
Also, solicitors if I have to cross my hands over my chest while talking to you OR go put my bra back on to answer the door, I can almost guarantee I’m not buying anything. For one, I’d have to uncross my arms. And two, if I had to rebra to answer the door, I’m pissed at you.
I know I’m not alone.