In this month’s “Life with the Girls,” Laura Lifshitz walks us through an ordinary day which, as it turns out, is disproportionally dictated by the whims of her breasts. Defy you not to relate.
6 AM: Morning arrives much earlier than I would like. (Thank you, adulthood.) While my soul is crushed that the alarm has sounded and I have, in short order, exceeded the maximum number of snooze hits, there is one delightfully happy part of me: my boobs.
My boobs greet the morning with unadulterated joy. Why are my boobs so happy, you may ask? Because freedom. Unlike the rest of me, they awaken in an unguarded state of leisure.
But as every woman knows, she’s only as good as her best-fitting over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. As great as freedom feels, it’s time to secure the girls in a bra that will help them live their best life as I go out and live mine.
6:30 AM: A 30-way-too-many-Ds lady like myself invariably owns a few bras, and there is an arsenal of choices at my disposal. Will it be a standard issue T-shirt bra kind of day, or should I go for the pretty, lacy bra that’s not so lacy that it itches the ever-loving sin out of me? Is this going to be a racerback situation? Am I slinging on a sports bra because why not, who cares? Or should I counter that impulse by going for the raciest bra in the bunch? Who can predict the future? Not I, so I reach into the drawer and see what comes up, knowing full well there’s a 25 percent chance it’s going to be:
a) Chantelle. Dear, sweet Chantelle has sexy styles that give me support and coverage, and whoever Chantelle is, I love her for this.
“The most entertaining part of my morning by far is putting on my bra. It looks like a modern dance performance”
6:35 AM: The most entertaining part of my morning by far is putting on my bra. If you’ve ever seen me do it, and chances are that’s a solid no, you would notice that I was taught by a lingerie store professional. It looks like a modern dance performance. I fasten the bra in front, on the first hook so it’s not too tight (okay, let’s be real, it’s usually the last set of hooks since the bra is stretched out to within an inch of its life). Then I twist it around my torso to put the hooks in back. I imagine Chubby Checker would approve—c’mon, baby, let’s do the twist! Then it’s time for my signature move, “the place and adjust,” where I shovel each breast into its cup, then reposition it to ensure that my side boob is stored safely inside. After that, it’s shimmy, shimmy, shimmy everything into place until I feel like the bad ass rebel I am (in my head).
Stop. Alignment time.
Even more sweat-inducing than “Hammer Time,” bra strap alignment is nothing short of a Pilates session. I contort and reach behind me to tweak each shoulder adjuster thingy because it’s worth it for all of the support, none of the slippage.
6:45 AM: Just like they told me at my last job at a start-up, “Each day will be different, Laura!” My breasts are ready to go on a new adventure. As I leave the house, I run a quick diagnostic:
- Am I too boobylicious?
- Is anything hanging out that shouldn’t be?
- Does the neckline of my top match the bra? Does the bra match the fabric and color of my top?
- Why doesn’t this outfit look like it did in the fitting room?
- Why do I even own a button-down shirt? Am I looking to add stress to my life?
- What was I thinking?
8:15 AM: Some of my bras conform to me so well, my breasts instantly register them as home, a pillow of comfort on which to while away the hours we spend behind a desk. On these blessed days, I hear no peeps, sighs or complaints from my boobs. Even on these days, however, I check in on them to make sure they aren’t revealing themselves too much—unless it’s that kind of day, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
Considering I work in an office, it usually isn’t.
11:45 AM: Some days, I find myself doing adjustment after adjustment. Loosen the straps a bit. Tighten them. Yank down the band and repeat ad nauseum. It’s often my own doing, I realize. I wanted to wear the bra that’s sexy but uncomfortable, or comfortable and heinous-looking, or the wrong size but I’ve loved it for too long and can’t bear to toss it, or the dress that isn’t made for busty girls, but my stubborn self just had to have it anyway.
5:15 PM: That night, if I’m going out and need to change, I repeat steps one to three thousand, as listed above. Squish, smooth, place and adjust into a sports bra for dance class or the gym. Wriggle and writhe into a sexy demi or strapless for date night.
6:30 PM: If I’m staying home, I’m popping off that bra like a Champagne cork, toasting my girls on a job well done. They even get a bit of moisturizer before bed. Gravity comes for us all eventually, but I’m going to try to give my breasts a running start.
10:45 PM: Darkness falls and I lie in bed, mulling over what bra to wear with which outfit tomorrow….
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