It’s been a heavy bra couple of weeks.
For those without a PhD in bra etiquette:
Heavy bras are the fat pants of bras.
You know the pants you wear after a big holiday meal when your body needs privacy and an elastic waistband.
There are three types of bras:
Sexy.
Comfort.
And heavy.
Heavy bras provide a lot of coverage and zero support.
Just like my ex.
They’re the bras you wear when you’re having the worst day of your life.
The love of your life tells you she’s cheating on you with your best friend…
Then asks if you can give her a ride to his house.
Slip into a heavy bra. It’s like a warm blanket and a glass of milk.
Or vodka.
They provide a ridiculous amount of extra coverage.
Like they were designed by your religious father when he still thought the purity ring you wore wasn’t sarcastic heavy bras are hideous.
They make your grandma’s bras look like they belong in the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.
I’m pretty sure they were invented in England to deter Viking raiders.
They’d storm the village, take one look and go:
No thank you.
Keep the livestock.
Nobody is getting pillaged tonight.
Let’s go to France.
Their heavy bras are everyone else’s naughty bras.
Heavy bras are what you wear when there is absolutely no chance you’re getting laid later.
They’re like wearing a NO TOUCHY sign.
They’re the bra you wear when you don’t want to worry about getting groped by Todd from Accounting.
There are days I need a good groping.
TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY, TODD.
Circle back Thursday. And Friday.
They’re what you wear when the evening plan is a rom-com and gorging on pizza and ice cream.
Because when you put on the heavy bra, you’ve made a decision.
We are closed for business.
I can eat anything because I don’t have to worry about a fart slipping out while sitting on someone’s face later.
Margot Robbie could walk up to me, put her panties on the table and say:
“You. Me. Bathroom. Right now.”
And I would say…
Um…
Yes, please.
There are exceptions.
Margot Robbie.
The cast of Friends.
Most of the cast of Looney Tunes.
Especially the Tasmanian Devil.
I heard that man is a panther in the sack.
Anyway…
I’m pulling out of the funk.
The mouth is healing.
Life is getting back to normal.
And I’m nearly ready to wear a cuter bra.
Not today though, Todd.
That’s growth, baby girl.
