Dearest Sports Bra of Mine,
Your one job is to keep things in and you do one hell of a job. Nothing is escaping you, and that includes me. You got the market/boob cornered in containment. You sir (yes I am assuming you are a man because no woman would hold on that tight to a boob), are number one in the holding business and I commend you. You rock at being the go to apparel item in all endowed women’s wardrobe if they are undertaking anything that involves exertion – those puppies can’t be running all around the pound now can they? I thought not. But there’s more to you than just holding my girls like a boy who just got to second base for the first time.
This morning I put you on, I even had one of your expensive ones with the clasps in the back that supposedly make entry and exit easier – well guess what? You fucking LIE! It isn’t easier, it is just as damn hard! I was lulled into a false sense of security, not about your holding, that you did wonderfully, but about your ease of exit. After my difficult workout when my body was physically exhausted and done I was forced to roll you down my sweaty self to escape your clutches. I can’t even begin to describe the panic rising in my throat when I realized you were not coming off the traditional way – over my head. Well actually yes, I can describe the panic.
It was as if I was all alone on a dark street at night, my heels clicking on the pavement, when I sensed someone watching me. I quickened my pace to a point I was running to escape the inevitable. That’s how I felt, but substitute heels to sneakers, stalking to my reflection, running to clawing to escape and you have the perfect picture of me freaking the fuck out sweaty and gross alone in in my bathroom. So thank you, thank you Sports Bra for encapsulating me in my undergarments so thoroughly I could not get out of the damn thing.
But I’m on to you, I’ve heard there is a resolution to escape your clutches and you can be darn fucking sure I am getting it. Out with you Dick’s Sporting Goods/Target sports bra wanna be’s and enter the holy grail – Victoria Secret Knockout Bra. My endowed bestie informed me, after a colorful rant, that these were the go to bra. The key…the front zipper. Boom! Now we’re talking. Why do not all sports bras have zippers? Why because a man is behind the design, there could be no other reason. Well, I, put my money where my boobs were and purchased a knockout bra for $39. The proof will be in the cups when I go to exit my beloved friend. If I can’t get in it, or out of it, what is the point in doing it?
Update sports bra haters, I bought and used the VC Knockout bra and it was a knockout…in that trying to get it on me resulting in a one, two, and down! for the count experience. See I failed to remember the front clip part of the knockout bra. I couldn’t figure out how the fuck to get the thing on, after all I unzipped it and yet the cups were still attached. No where in my ‘oh fuck I gotta workout’ mind did it dawn on me that the cups were held together via a plastic clip. Why? Who knows, probably because I was trying to psyche myself up to an elliptical workout and spent zero time perusing my new purchase. In the end the clip went sailing across the room when I stretched the bra to go on over my head, verse the intended way of putting it on like a nice button down shirt.
Lesson learned, even when the bra is meant to be easy it is still a pain in the fucking ass – and a very expensive one at that.
Thanks for holding me in and up, if only I could escape your clutches,