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 70's there were plenty of women who went free. Like the summers that the lesbians from the lesbian camp came into town. There was some swinging going on, for sure. Well, actually I wasn't sure- my mom made me stay home that whole week. I only ever got a peak at one or two of them. Definitely bra-less.
Then we will never forget the Demi bra. Capitol"D" because of the actress Demi Moore who made them famous. Everyone wanted their boobs to look like that. Everyone under the age of 60. The demi bra became nick-named the push up bra because it was easier to remember and that's really what it did- push them up and often, over. Now everyone had boobs growing out of their necks and they were happy to show them off. That was the nineties.
Nowadays, our bra's are much more natural. A softer, simpler bra. It's all that's needed now that our boobs have been stuffed with silicone and stitched to our necks. Not me, man. No silicone or saline here. Attached by stitches to a higher locale? How about over the top and tacked to my shoulder blades? Or my ear lobes. I have big boobies on a small rib cage. I need extra support. We're talking para-military troops- support. I buy the 35.oo minimizer which promises to make you look a size smaller. It does when the unit is new. The straps are "comfort straps" at a luxurious 1 1/2 width sometimes padded so as not to make the grooves in my shoulders any deeper. It takes three hooks to close these babies and extra seams to contain my dangerous prisoners.
I have to be careful what kind of necklines my shirts have. If the shirt is designed for someone with wide shoulders-well, there's a chance one of my girls could try to make a break for it. Nope, no scoop necks for me. I'll take a button down with extra high buttons, please. Jogging? Sure, watch all the rednecks drive off the road as I bounce by. I'm thinking a brisk walk is safer for the public.
But, I digress, I forgot to mention my dear sweet mother in law who has no boobies. She still wears the pointy cone bra's though. They look, as I mentioned to Misschell one day, as if they were stuffed, just in the lower half with sugar packets. I always want to pat them to see if i hear paper. She agreed with me, definitely sugar packets. Perhaps, one day yet we'll hold down long enough to feel her up...
But still I digress, I had a story about the time my mother stood in the hallway of our house, lecturing Rhonda and I after hearing from Rhonda's mother that she suspected we had been sneaking out at night. Yes, I had already been scarred for life many times by the sight of my naked parents but I had sympathy and regret for Rhonda as my mother stood there in her waist high polyester panties and pointy bra. She was doing the- wagging pointy finger and looking over her glasses as she lectured us- thing. Her overly white pearlescent skin glowed and the blue veins on were visible like a road map, right through those polyester panties. She was more than mad. She was parental.
Rhonda and I had other plans for that evening but we quickly decided to join my mother in church that evening, at her suggestion. Rhonda's acceptance was at my urging. I whispered to her "Look her straight in the eyes at all times. Look apologetic. Don't move unless I give the signal. She's dangerous right now, a dangerous wild Helen is something you don't want to mess with." "Just nod your head when I do." Trust me, that experience had to be due punishment for us teenagers.
I think that may be the one and only time Rhonda ever went to Catholic service. She probably prayed that someone poke out her mind's eye at the same time she was thanking Jesus for sparing her life. It was a beautiful summer evening for church service and was still quite pleasant later that night when we snuck out my bedroom window.
Bra's. They bring back memories.