Hello Bosom Buddy,
We’ve been together more than a decade, which is technically a longer and more intimate relationship than I’ve had with anyone who isn’t related to me and I thank you for your support. I’m writing you this letter today because although it’s a little embarrassing, you deserve my honesty.
I have been faking it.
The fact of the matter is, I really don’t need you that much. Now before you go getting all weepy, let me clarify that I’m keeping you around—you’re pretty much all that I have—but the last few years of our relationship have really been based more out of social convention than physical necessity.
It wasn’t like this in the beginning.
You were one of many with a very important job to do. I had more meat on my frame and an actual need for your support—physical and not just moral. The fact that you were from Victoria’s Secret, dark, mysterious and didn’t contain underwire was a winning combination.
I kept you in the rotation among a few others who, sadly, have not lasted nearly as long. Multiple washings wore out their lace, their straps, their comfort, and yet you stuck around like a champ.
We’ve had a lot of good times and some questionable moments — let’s not talk about that night in college when we woke up hung-over in a frat house and I frantically searched for you before eventually finding you stuck in a fan. If only you could have held my hair back instead of my boobs as I hovered over the toilet and swore off ever drinking again.
There’s a seasonal nature to our relationship and you accept that when it’s cold, I can defer to my preferred sports bra under the layers of clothes that I wear. But when the weather starts to heat up and your straps might just show, I don’t revert to the drawer full of lace, silk and padded cotton that pretty much now goes untouched.
No, I go to you.
Much like my yoga pants, I’m sure you had higher goals and expected to feel more fulfilled—both emotionally and physically—and I share in your disappointment. After all, Victoria’s Secret promoted you as helping to turn me into a “bombshell,” but I think both of us know that the only way that will happen is if your cups are packed with explosives.
Yet you try, and for that my bosom buddy, I give you an “A” for effort. Or more accurately, a 34 A. Ha!
At any rate, while I might not need you around, I’ll happily keep you around as long as you hold up your end of the deal—and the two little bumps on my chest.
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I don’t really need ol’ faithful so much anymore, either… I suspect he gets mocked in the drawer among his older, bigger, more throroughly worn predecessors from when I was heavier. At best, I’m humoring him now.
I’m glad you can write about your solid support.
I’ve always enjoyed the way they look at you in Victoria’s Secret when you hold up the lacy bombshell sexy times masterpiece and ask for it in 34A. I’ve always felt the look was asking me whether or not I didn’t want to maybe go buy some pink Hanes girls undershirts instead. If yours was in the ceiling fan, it makes me think maybe you were dancing on a coffee table before you lost track of it…
Now I’m wondering if my underwear needs an expiration date. Thanks…
you are soooooooooooooooo good nancy xoxo really made me smile!
Bahahaha, the fan!!!
Very funny and brave! 🙂
“Abby! No! I can do better! I’ll learn to hold back your hair! I’ll lift you up like never before!”
P.S. Can you help me break up with a certain thong I’ve come to keep around for no reason at all? It just knows too much…
Sling-shot that sucker and move on with your life.
So the other night, Joanna and I were getting a little “friendly”. Because she had ventured out of the house that day sans toddler, she was wearing an actual bra.
I. couldn’t. get. the. damn. thing. off.
Seriously, it’s like I was fourteen again.
That’s what two years of stretchy nursing bras will do to a man. My skills are all rusty.
I’m sure where there’s a will, there’s a way 😉
I need to break up with some slutty lingerie that hubby bought me and hasn’t seen the light of day for YEARS.
I still have stuff that has tags. Maybe they could start a “support” group. Ha!
“A” for effort! HA!!! I have bras and undies so old the elastic sounds like a bag of Sun Chips being run over by a skateboard.
Ha! Love it!
I need to meet your bra or at least her larger cousin. Mine succumb to pressure, either peer or from my well endowed chest, and breakdown on an annual basis. And mine are from Vickie’s too because only the best stuff for my girls (ignoring the fact I’m currently bra less, and if I were to wearing support, it’d likely be a sports bra. My hats off to your brazier.
I want to live in your brain for just one day. Oh the shenanigans that would ensue.
No, trust me. You don’t.
You should get one more bra just to keep the first one company in the drawer, I worry it’s lonely.
Oh, there are others. They just don’t get worn anymore…
I can totally relate. Actually I can’t, I’m a dude. I do like breasts though. OK fine, I talk to my underwear sometimes too.
My bras are trying to kill me… Death by underwire.
Great topic. I can totally understand as I am a 34A too. Difficulty finding bras that don’t have butterflys and bees on them ever since I began wearing them but now it seems harder. I have my one stand by that I have worn over 10 years , a t shirt bra that I love. I wish I could find its siblings to
mingle with. Keep up the wonderful blog, I loved reading it.
ooh so i’m not the only unsexy woman prancing around in sports bra’s in winter??
oh how i hate bra’s…..soo wich i could do without them.
Your bra sure is lucky to have you, Abby. And guess what? I wear a 34A, too, and it is probably too big. I need to “sized” but who wants to do that? I knew there was another reason I laughed at all of your jokes.