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Showing posts from April, 2009

Bras freak me out.

Well, they do. Probably because there are all kinds of memories tied to them. Think of the style trend over the years. Remember our mom's generation? The really pointy cone shaped, robot boobs women sported around? Freaky. We all got a peak at our momma's in their undies. Their boobs didn't look like that when not contained. What were the stylists thinking? My mother had definite preferences. She knew her bra by it's number. "Bob, pick me up a bra while you're at the store. Number 6811, 36c. White." Oooh, those bra's. Padded polyester spun to a silk like softness, rough lace on the upper half. A seam running right across the center of each cup. They held up alright. Polyester is tough. And, so is elastic, just to be safe the straps are about an inch wide and leave grooves in the shoulder. After all, they have an important job to do. At least she wore one. Respectable, church going women did. They didn't like anything swinging to and fro. But in the