You might think I'm talking about getting older. But no, I'm talking about the underwire in my bra. It's creaking. Oh sure, I start out every day being lifted and separated, then after the bra warms up it starts to creak.
So I'm walking down the hall sending chills up my own spine because it's like someone is walking up the creaky stairs after me. I don't even have stairs in my house.
When I'm standing at the kitchen counter cooking, it sounds like my joints are suddenly going to give way.
It's especially bad when I'm doing laundry. Taking laundry out of the washer and putting it into the drying means lots of bending and twisting like an old wind mill in need of oil.
I don't think these bras started out creaking. I don't remember them creaking a year ago when I bought them. Maybe they have a shelf life and the wires have dried out or they're about to break? I hate having a bra blow-out when I'm walking down the street.
I've had bras blow-out at low speed when the wire has unexpectedly snapped. This is most assuredly something men never have to face; to be walking down the street and something suddenly stabs you in the ribs and there is nothing you can do but pull through your shirt and subtly try to work it around until it quits stabbing you.
I remember when my sister was in high school and she was talking to a girl who was well endowed and either her hooks suddenly broke or someone flipped the hooks on her bra and her bra shot forward while my sister was standing there. My sister was telling me about it when she got home and we were rolling on the floor laughing, not because of how embarrassing it must've been, but because of how the bra shot forward right before my sister's eyes.
Aside from feeling like I'm always in a B-rated horror flick, I find some comfort in their cozy, creaking sound, as if I'm not alone. But I think it's time to get some new bras before I start having conversations with them.
So I'm walking down the hall sending chills up my own spine because it's like someone is walking up the creaky stairs after me. I don't even have stairs in my house.
When I'm standing at the kitchen counter cooking, it sounds like my joints are suddenly going to give way.
It's especially bad when I'm doing laundry. Taking laundry out of the washer and putting it into the drying means lots of bending and twisting like an old wind mill in need of oil.
I don't think these bras started out creaking. I don't remember them creaking a year ago when I bought them. Maybe they have a shelf life and the wires have dried out or they're about to break? I hate having a bra blow-out when I'm walking down the street.
I've had bras blow-out at low speed when the wire has unexpectedly snapped. This is most assuredly something men never have to face; to be walking down the street and something suddenly stabs you in the ribs and there is nothing you can do but pull through your shirt and subtly try to work it around until it quits stabbing you.
I remember when my sister was in high school and she was talking to a girl who was well endowed and either her hooks suddenly broke or someone flipped the hooks on her bra and her bra shot forward while my sister was standing there. My sister was telling me about it when she got home and we were rolling on the floor laughing, not because of how embarrassing it must've been, but because of how the bra shot forward right before my sister's eyes.
Aside from feeling like I'm always in a B-rated horror flick, I find some comfort in their cozy, creaking sound, as if I'm not alone. But I think it's time to get some new bras before I start having conversations with them.
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