I Made a Strapless Bra!

strapless bra

I turned a regular bra into a strapless model.  Not intentionally.  The stinkin’ straps fell off in the wash.  I mean, I went to pull a load of laundry out of the machine and this cantankerous garment had wrapped all around itself and around its peers.  I put 25 small articles of clothing in and pulled out one.  One large knotted up blob.

As I pulled the pieces apart, I realized that the bra was the culprit.  Who knew its strap was 108 inches long?  In the end, it had ripped apart and put the strangle hold around the yoga pants and the St. Mary’s t-shirts.  Poor things.

At the bottom of the machine, I found a half-moon shaped, curved piece of metal.  It looked like a piece of my car engine.

How the heck did that get in there?  “Girls, have you been messing with the carburetor?”

In fact, it wasn’t the carburetor at all.  It was a piece of the bra.  Who knew there was metal?  I always thought they were made of silk and girlie stuff.  Nah, they are reinforced up under the lace with the same thing they use to make grocery baskets.  Mr. T couldn’t bend it.

A told a lady at work about my problem with intimates.  The next day she brought me a bra bag.  She told me to wash them separately.

Like who does that?  With three daughters, that could be 12, 15 bras a week.  Imagine?  I’m gonna have to quit my job.  I can’t do 15 loads of laundry every few days just because this finicky underpant doesn’t get along well with others!

Imagine, dig them out of the laundry basket, put one in the zip lock mesh bag, wash it, dry it, repeat – 14 more time.  Consider what they’d say at my funeral:

Well, he didn’t do much for our community, but his girls always had clean bras.

My boxers love their friends.  Nothing makes them happier then to go swimming with buddies.  They’re so easy.  You can wash them with jeans, sweaters, sweatshirts, dress shirts, socks, dish towels – it doesn’t matter!  Hot, cold, warm!  Dry til your heart is content.  And they last for decades.

Why can’t they be more like a guy’s clothing?

If I was a bra, I’d be thankful I had a good job and stop being so picky.

 

 

What are these things all over my house?

insert

The first two years after Lisa died, I had no idea what these things were. I found them everywhere, especially in the summertime. Different shapes and sizes. Various colors.  In the laundry, on the bedroom floor, occasionally one precariously perched on a basement step.

I pondered their use.

Maybe one of the girls is dating a nice Jewish boy.

insert yamaka

Nah.  They would have told me.  None can hold a secret.

I remembered I once had a scratched retina.  Could it be a white eyepatch.

insert eyepatch

Arrrgh.

Maybe a broken earmuff –

insert earmuff

But why were they more prevalent in the summer?

I got some peanuts and sat down with my iPad to research.

insert peanuts

When DJ entered the house, she looked at me strangely.

“Why are you using a bra pad to store your nuts?”

Ahhh – it was all beginning to make sense.

My next questions were more difficult to answer:  Why aren’t they in the bra or the bathing suit?  Why are they scattered about our home?

What I found is that there are two kinds of chest inserts.  One is trapped – it can’t come out.  The second is gently nestled inside the outer cover but there is an opening on the side, like the fly on a man’s boxers.  But apparently this pad does not enjoy being cooped up.

The problem with both is that the insert is not sewn in.  It is loose.  So, if there isn’t an opening, the dang thing gets waded up and it looks like you’ve got a Beanie Baby shoved in your bosom.  If it does have a hole and it falls out, you can see full, unhampered boobage.

Neither is a good option.

Why don’t they secure this insert?  You wouldn’t toss some elastic around the waistline of your boxers and not sew it in!  No, you stabilize it with needle and thread so that there is no question that your underwear finish the day in the same place they started.

Who invents these things?

It should be me.

Purchase Danny’s Book Laughter, Tears and Braids: Amazon or Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh

If you have read the book and are willing to write a short review, it would be helpful: Click here. And thanks!

 

 

Bra Issues, Again

Victoria's Secret

We’re having bra problems again.

It’s prom weekend, and DJ found a pretty bright pinkish dress at a fairly reasonable price. I was excited that I wasn’t going to have to take out a second mortgage to pay for it.

But there was one hitch. The back of the dress had some holes in it which made it difficult to brassiere-ize, and she is not one who can go without.

I learned last year that they make these bras that aren’t really a bra at all. They’re like a bumper sticker that you put on your boobs. And…they cost $53!!!

I offered other more reasonable options:

“If you’re not going to get a real bra, couldn’t we rig something up? We could buy those face masks that doctors wear and tie them together. A pack of 25 for only $4.99 – and you’d be set for dances well into your sophomore year of college.”

She didn’t like that idea.

“I could fold my Dr. Scholl’s inserts, not these – I’d buy ones that haven’t yet been used, and hot glue them in a cupish sort of position.”

She just doesn’t have vision.

“Your sister can make incredible stuff out of Duct tape…”

We were getting nowhere. So I succumbed. We headed to Victoria’s Secret. The secret is they charge you $53 for a large band-aid.

After going to two of their franchises to find the right size, we got it home and she tried it on. And the damn thing fell right off. It was like making a jock strap out of a dish towel and attaching it to your body with Scotch tape. Sir Isaac Newton could have told us that wasn’t going to work. Nothing just cannot hold up something. And to make it worse, the sales clerk at the classified undergarment store told us if we removed the tape we could not return the bumper sticker.

Well we’ll see about that! I’m gonna go in and if they give me a hard time I am going to find the most endowed employee and insist that she go put that dag gone thing on and prove to me it can hold those items in place! It’s defective. It simply DOES NOT WORK.

And tomorow, I may have to buy a new prom dress. But that will probably be cheaper than the bra!

 

 

 

Razorback Bra

More and more I find myself in a room as the only man with a group of women.  That would be nice if they were all single and looking for love.  In my case, they are not.  Most are married and parenting my children’s classmates.

Dads just don’t participate that much in these parent meetings for their daughters’ activities.  It’s dumped on poor mom.  Would be too in my house if there was one for the dumping.

Last Saturday was the mandatory parent meeting for the cheerleaders at St. Timothy’s School; me and 15 lovely mothers were in attendance.  They all looked fairly nice.  I was in flip-flops and had a visor on to cover my bed head.

Although I’ve attended this meeting for the past five years, I think they felt a good refresher was in order.

We discussed the game and practice schedule and debated how much “stunting” should be done.  I’m not too worried but don’t care to see my 13-year-old flying across the gymnasium like a final second NBA half court shot.

We were reminded no jewelry – hoop earrings and “Rah Rah Ree” just don’t mix.  Did you know that a neighboring teammate’s finger could get caught in the loop and split the lobe right open?  Yuuuuck.  Had to put my head between my legs when that image ran through my brain.  Thought I was going to pass out.

If I were female and that was even a remote possibility, guess whose ears would not be pierced?

Then we covered the topic of uniforms.  Not too short we were informed, it is an Episcopal School.  Interestingly, we parents pointed out that the team we play against with the poodle skirts look pretty outdated in the year 2013 (that school is apparently a bit more conservative).  But Mrs. Ready, the Middle School Principal, says that the skirt can’t be shorter than 6 inches above the knee when you’re kneeling.  I measured my kids’ when they were doing their nightly prayers.

“Put on your school uniform and kneel!”

“Why do you have the yardstick dad?  Are you doing to beat me?”

“Nah.  Just following up on Mrs. Ready’s request.”

Incidentally, she’s also the one who walks through the gym during the school dances reminding kids to “leave room for Jesus.”  I love that woman.

Then, the coach said everyone on the team needed to wear a “razorback bra.”

I’d never heard of such a thing, my curiosity was piqued.  I almost raised my hand for clarity but from the looks of the others in the room, I was the only one who needed to be enlightened.  Plus, I have DJ, a good resource in these situations.

I’ll have to admit, I had a difficult time concentrating for the duration of the meeting…

What in the heck is a “razorback bra?”  Does it keep the hair off your back?  If so, Uncle Jesse needs one of those.  Does it have spikes on the back?  Kind of a reverse Lady Gaga?  Is it manufactured by students from the University of Arkansas?

On Tuesday, a friend from work announced that she was going to Target and asked if anyone needed anything.  I know her fairly well so I pulled her in my office.

“Hey, when you’re there, could you see if they have any razorback bras?  Stephanie needs one for cheerleading, and I don’t know where to find those.”

“Do you mean racerback?”

“Hmmm.”  RACERback.  That –  makes –  sense.  “Yea.  Yea.  Racerback.  You wear them when you race!  That’s it.  That’s what I mean.”  (Nervous laugh.)

So for all the dads out there who are responsible for bra purchases in their home, a racerback bra swoops in on both sides of the shoulder blades, sort of like a swervey capital letter I.  If you’re still unsure, picture it on backwards.  If you envision something you saw at your bachelor party, you’re on the right track.

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