To Twist or Not to Twist...

I went bra shopping this weekend.

(Guys, if you want to understand the feminine population a little better, stick around.)

I hate bra shopping. I'm lucky if I find one bra every three years that I really like. Then they go and discontinue it. I've been scraping by with my old ones for months now, because I just can't find new ones that fit right. Most of the ones I've been wearing are missing the underwire on one side. I'm sure that just does wonders for my figure.

Anyway, my girlfriend told me about a place in town that specializes in bras. They'll even custom fit them for you for free. I figure, what the heck? What have I got to lose other than these raw spots that my bras are rubbing on my ribs now? So Angel and I went Saturday.

This was my first 'official' bra fitting. On our customer questionnaire they asked what size I thought I was. My guess was nearly right on. I had the band size correct, but my guess at a D cup was apparently laughable. So begin my workout for the day.

I played contortionist, fastening the first few myself. Then my arms begin to go numb from reaching behind me to hook them, so my fitter graciously fastened them for me. It was that or wait outside the dressing room for an hour while I tried to make numb fingers work. I wasn't too worried. I knew once I was home I'd be able to fasten them just fine. I mean my arms were just tired, right? After wrestling in and out of at least eight different power net, underwire, super-support bras, I found one that fit fine. Cup size 'F' (Wholly Moley!) I told her I'd take two. Plus a lacey one I had just tried that didn't need altering. I left the last one on and gave her the tag. No sense in wrestling it off until necessary.

She altered them and then rang me up. Good Grief, I could support a couple of small countries with what it cost for those slingshots. Actually, according to my corrected cup size, I AM supporting a couple of small countries!

This morning, I jumped out of the shower and saw that I was already running late. I dashed madly about the room finding clothes. Oh yeah! New bras! I excitedly grab a new one to put on. I slip my arms in, put the girls in their new boulder holders and reach behind me to fasten it.

Nada.

No can do.

Hmm. I take the girls back out so that I can pull the back down further to meet hook and eye. Nope. That doesn't work either. Neither does the near back bend I'm doing in an effort to make my arms longer. Fine. We'll try twisting. Taking it off, I turn the bra around and hook it in front. Grabbing the band I try to twist the cups back to the front. Nope. Won't budge. The wires are too big.

Crap. Now what?

I unhook it and try the other way again. Still no go. I'm getting desperate at this point. The clock is ticking away and the logical side of my brain is telling me to just put on an old one and get going. The frantic bookkeeper side of me says, "Are freakin' kidding me? We paid for small country covers and we're gonna use 'em!"

Suddenly I have an idea. What if I put it on over my head? It's worth a try. I take it off, fasten the hooks and then proceed to try and pull it over my head like a t-shirt. It's a little snug, but not too bad until I get it about half way down. I realize then, I'm stuck. My arms are trapped over my head and one wrong move could cause this power net to strangle me. I have horrifying visions of my family coming to search for me, only to find me strangled by my bra, arms over head, flashing God and country. Heaven forbid. I start wiggling again. After a good deal of sweating and pure fear, I managed to get it in place. I'm panting, sweaty and strangely limbered up - but thankful to be alive. My clock tells me this near death experience has cost me fifteen minutes of my morning routine.

At least it came off without a hitch tonight. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? One thing is for sure, I will find a way to conquer these things.

On the bright side, I've never been perkier!
A.