The day my bra fell apart.

Every few years, my bras fall apart and have to be replaced.

This is a problem for me, as my breasts have also fallen apart, and though they really should be replaced, I have ethical (and financial, and practical) problems with this. So I have to stick with my breasts, and just work around them as best I can.

I’ve been wearing the same bras for three years now, since my breasts returned to normal after the birth of Toddler (using the word ‘normal’ in the sense of ‘not at all like a supermodel, or indeed any woman whose breasts have ever been lusted after by a man’).

Sadly, my breasts did not grow back after the inevitable post-breastfeeding deflation. To the contrary. Over the past three years, they have kept on SHRINKING. I do not know this was actually possible, as I didn’t think one could get much smaller than an A cup, but apparently it is. So now my tiny little breasts swim in their cups, leaving a pocket of space that is quite handy to store tissues or loose change, but that rather undermines the nice shape I am trying to achieve.

So last week, I had to bra shop. I don’t much enjoy bra shopping. This is partly because it is a pain to take off all my upper garments and try on 750 bras whose straps and hooks need adjusting before I can get them over my shoulders, and partly because it’s rather humiliating having a firm bosomed young woman fiddle with my flappy waggly wigglies.

Still, I made the effort. And I cannot quite describe what went on in that tiny changeroom. I mean, I could, of course, but I think it would be dangerously disturbing for my female readers, far too traumatic for me, and WAY too exciting for those men amongst you who have only clicked onto this post because it had ‘breast’ in the title.

Suffice it to say that I ended up with three different bras:

1) A very lovely black strapless bra, that keeps my breasts nicely in place whilst remaining hidden from view, unless I’m wearing something white, which I usually am, in which case my very lovely black bra is going to be an extremely prominent feature;

2) A delightful, lacey, blue push-up, that creates an illusion of cleavage in low-cut tops, with the unfortunate but manageable tendency to allow my nipple to continually slip out in eye-popping wardrobe malfunctions; and

3) An ‘adjustable’ flesh coloured bra, with clear straps, that cleverly makes my four breasts look twice the size they usually are. Which is great, except that I really only want two breasts, and until I put this particular bra on, that’s what I had.

So as you can see, none of my bras are quite ideal. But then again, neither are my breasts, so it’s not like I had a lot to work with. And really, so far they’re working quite well.

Four-breasted nipple flash, anyone?