Please bookmark the correct page at Princess of Irony

Shut up bra making people.

Issue Date: Monday, Jun. 13, 2005

This weekend was busy. Mister and I had plans coming out of our ears, we had a date planned for Friday night, dinner plans with friends scheduled for Saturday night and church and a friend’s college graduation on Sunday. And amidst all of these plans we had our regular errands to run and chores to get done. Of course the laundry didn’t even get touched. But that’s for another entry.

While my husband was at home on Saturday afternoon I ran to the store to get our provisions for the evening’s dinner with friends.

Then I…

Wait. Let me back up a little bit to Tuesday.

Tuesday I was dressed in my standard work attire. A black v-neck, short sleeved, ribbed sweater and the grey, cuffed pants with a black belt.

Let me break down my wardrobe for you. I have about 4 or 5 different pairs of black pants, three different pairs of tan or camel colored pants, and wonderful pair of grey pants, one pair of navy pants and a veritable cornucopia of tops, sweaters, twin sets and blouses to choose from. Of course I do have the outfits that go together and the pant suits and the suits and the skirts and the dresses, and today I am wearing something that looks sort of like this… with straps and a little white shrug… but to be completely honest… I am fashion-retarded. That is why I stick with the Garanimals for adults clothing. Black pants, colored top, black shoes, rinse and repeat… five freakin times a week.

Um… yeah… that was a tangent that even left me a little winded.

Anyway, so I was dressed in the standard work attire on Tuesday and I was leaving the office when all of the sudden I heard a “SnnnNAP!”

Whoa. Um. Dude. That came from my right boob.

I actually looked down and addressed it, “You alright there fella?”

It looked fine. I wasn’t sporting a uniboob look or anything yet. I had just cracked the underwire from my bra. Apparently it was plastic and of no match for the boob that hath no fury like a boobie scorn.

Wha?... Yeah, I don’t know either.

So, I told Mister when I got home, “Lookit, she busted another one.” And tossed him the poor limp little bra with the busted underwire. He in turn tossed onto the pile of ruined and busted up bras that my right breast had cast asunder in days of yore.

Ok. Ok, Ok… alright. No more of this “My right breast is the terminator” bullshit. I’ll stop right now.

I’m just a little miffed that I had to go bra shopping. Alone even.


But the place where I purchase them did have them on sale, Buy Two, Get Two Free. Rockin. Which is cool since bras cost a strict mint each. And the sales lady actually had the balls gall to say, “Bras are only supposed to last for six months.”

I wanted to say, “Six months? I am spending $34.00 on a standard foundation garment and this thing is only supposed to last for Six Months? You must be washing your under-things in straight bleach, lady because the bra that I have on right now is over three years old and it looks perfect.”

Mind you I do use a lingerie bag and I use the gentle cycle and NEVER dry my delicates in the dryer. And I have found that the satin/sateen bras last longer than the cotton and lace ones.

And of course the ones we find and the ones we love, don’t they always discontinue them ladies? I asked for a demi cup sateen (mumble mumble) size bra and she was all, “Oh, we discontinued that. But we have it in cotton.”

Hate. Haaaate.

Shut up bra making people.

I had to go through the whole dog and pony show of finding a new bra that actually works for me and my body style. “How about this one ma’am?” Sure, I’ll try it on, but the full coverage is too much and pokes me in the armpit because I don’t have THAT much boobage. “What about this convertible blah dee bloo with wings and ports of fancy?” Sure I’ll try it on, but I really don’t want cleavage up to my neck…Did you people really put pillows of AIR in here to enhance cleavage?? Holy Shit... “How about this fancy schmancy thing…” she kept talking and actually wiggled her eyebrows. Oh my GOD. Can this Be any Itchier?

Then I found one. And the heavens opened up and the angels started singing.

I put my t-shirt on over it and it looked normal. No tits up to my neck. No nipples threatening to poke out the eye of the nearest roving park ranger or whatever is roving nearly. “Ma’am? Can I have four of these in normal colors please?” “We only have two black ones, a cream one and an electric blue.” “Shit.” “Pardon?” “Nothing… Thank you.”

So I had to search for a normal color like… oh… gee maybe white?


I found a few other white ones in completely different styles… Ugh.

I wrestled with all of them then found a racer-back style that was up one number size and down one cup size… could it work? It was slightly normal… could I get so lucky? I tried it on and ….. LAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

I practically ran out of there with my four bras. The sale ended the next day so you know the ladies who worked there were like, “Shut up high maintenance girls with the ‘can you help me find a leprechaun riding a unicorn please?’ Gah SHUT UP!”


So, when I got home, I showed Mister the bras. I tried on the black one and told him that I am going to christen it my version of Weet’s Dayum! bra… he wants to know if there were any “holy shit!” panties to match.

Oh… Did I tell ya’ll?
Guess where Mister is taking me? Guess, go on. The first one to guess even close to correctly in the comments will get a mix cd or something. The clue is: it is on June 25th. And I am excited... so excited that I may pee.

Also, we went to go see my pretend boyfriend at the dollar theater last week. He was in a movie with some popular attractive black gentleman. Oh, I kid.
It was Hitch, and Mister and I laughed out loud and with great regularity. I loved that movie. And I love Kevin James. It is defiantly one to add to my library of dvds.

And ya’ll? It is seriously hot as hell in the Dallas/Fort Worth metropolis. The sun has like kicked it up a notch and I wish it would quit it already. Yesterd’y? 101. That’s right bitches. 101 degrees. That means hawt. That means pull a baby pool onto the porch, make sure it is in the shade, park a cooler close by, start a fan and point it at your head, make yourself a tall glass of Boodles/tonic/three olives and light a smoke, turn up Jack FM and then don’t move for the rest of the day.

Happy Monday ya’ll… you look mighty cute in them jeans!


Back Issues ::: Current Issue

Please switch to the site. - Friday, May. 23, 2008

- - Monday, Apr. 14, 2008

C'mon y'all - Friday, Feb. 22, 2008

C'Mon! - Wednesday, Feb. 13, 2008

- - Friday, Dec. 28, 2007

Follow this Link to the Cheese Club. Enter your photo in our Cheese Off Contest!

100 Things About Me

Sign the Guestbook

gmail me babies

Notified users get the dirt before EVERYONE ELSE!
Enter your email here:
Powered by

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.

To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by
[ Registered ]

Rate Me on Diarist.Net By Clicking Here


Who Links Here View blog reactions