My Bra is Trying to Kill Me by Robin Pizzo

Ouch, ooooo, ouch, Awww!  What is this poking me?  What is this stabbing me?  Am I near the fatal end?  I run to the restroom just after the board meeting, class lecture, praise and worship service, dance rehearsal, or PTA to discover a painstakingly, devastating, all too frequent occurrence.  My Bra is trying to kill me.

            The beautiful, wonderfully smooth foundation piece that our mothers taught us to wear since we barely had buds has turned on us!  They’ve become devises of torture, a man’s pleasure, a thoughtless expensive lift, perk, squeeze together and flaunt mechanism that in no way should be near one of a women’s most precious assets—her breast!  

            Now I must write a disclaimer with this piece.

             This is not for the perfect and pristine one who maintains a matching bra and panty collection of every color and fabric type by purchasing them quarterly at Vicki’s Secret.  Please stop reading if you then hand wash that collection with Woolite and hangs them to dry on their own special little satin wrapped fabric hangers.  Don’t go any further if after you dry your matching bra and panty sets, you neatly place them inside of your intimate garment drawer with the satchel full of fragrant potpourri.  Finally, this is not for you if you are the one who also makes sure when one bra begins to grow a little weary you graciously dispose of it.  

                                                Yeah Right!

            Most of us are hard working women who have children and dissertations and husbands and churches and boards with departments that meet over and over into the wee hours of the night.  We own one good bra, three we bought that we knew were too small but we had a plan to lose the weight, four pre-baby bras, six missing nursing bras (lots of those because, of course you would leak all over them) a couple you have no clue where they came from or why you have them- you just chalk up as being some man’s idea.  But let’s not forget the beginning of this refrain,

                                    ONLY 1 GOOD BRA. 

            The one good bra you throw into the washing machine with all the other whites (because momma always told you to keep your bra strap white).  You dump a little or a lot of bleach depending on how dirty your husband’s socks are and you wash, dry, untangle and put back into your drawer to wear for the next six days.  Until one day your good bra gets tired.  The fabric becomes stressed and the wire plunges through.  You notice, but you think, “oh its ok.  It’s my good bra and you keep wearing it.  Unfortunately the problem gets worse.  And every pay day, you swear you’re going to buy another good bra.  But days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months.

 Now the good bra is a real trooper.  It’s a survivor and has worked tirelessly to uphold your drooping, sagging, molely breast in the midst of life’s best and worst moments.  But it is time to give it a rest!  To allow it to lay down its burden and surrender.    Or else they become bras with underwire that poke through the cloth and with relentless force stab the side of your breast until you’re scarred and bruised to death. 

In reading this manifesto, remember this is really for all the sisters out there that work really hard and barely have time to shop at Vicki’s let alone keep her secret.  This is for those that have gained a baby or two, experienced gravity, paid discounted prices on imperfect braziers because they were conveniently located next to the grocery aisle, or gained (how shall I say) Oh shoot forget the semantics.  Fat, a little or a lot.  You should totally relate to what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about burning the bra and it ain’t got nothing to do with  women’s liberation.  But it does have everything to do with ——- Get Thee Behind Me Satan! 

            However, it can’t be today!  Today you have that important meeting, evaluation, mom date or family crisis to tend to.  You put on the good bra one last time and right smack dab in the middle of the most important moments.  The bra screams, “Give me liberty or give YOU death!” and with a force so powerful, stabs you with a defining stab that you swear has punctured you right through to your lung.  See the bra recognizes that the warning pokes were not sufficient so it’s only hope of freedom was to stab you with all its might. 

Deliverance has come!  You foot the 50 bucks to buy a new good bra.    

 As an educator, scholar, advocate, reader, coach’s wife, children’s book author, all things sweet and gooey fanatic, Christian, and mother; I believe in the power of words and their ability to transform thought, transcend time and space while translating change for a generation.

Education has been my greatest influence and in an attempt to share my passions and pursuits found within education and life; Pizzos3.com was developed.

It is a reflective resource for all those interested in personal and professional growth.

I hope you find something that causes you to reflect, research, and respond. I invite you to celebrate the power of words through this blog, captivated and inspired! 

My joy is found in being a part of  exceptionally, thoughtful learners and communicators.

 

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