A Good Bra is Hard to Find – Or How to Look Gorgeous for only £14

Bras are the bane of my life. Oh, hang on, sorry, men – look away now, this is a post about the real world of breasts. Not at all about the things that men think about breasts.

Bras are the bane of my life (did I mention that?). They have always been troublesome creatures. I understand what they are for. To hold tits. That’s fine. And especially for someone like me whose tits do need holding. So, failing having a nice lover to constantly follow me round holding my breasts in their cupped hands, I need a bra.

Now I’m wondering if one should choose one’s lover according to the size of their hands and whether or not their cupped hands are the correct cup size. If the cup fits, wear it. I can see a lot of the woes of the world might be solved if this were the case. After all, how many of us (all plus about ten) would like to know from the very outset of a relationship just whether we are compatible or not? Well, should this theory prove correct then the answer is before us all. Or at least attached to our chests. One simple test, which frankly could probably be done on the first date, or possibly anonymously, would tell us whether to bother or simply move on to a different-handed man.

I can’t believe no one has thought of this before. Just think of all the crap that’s talked about compatibility, shared interests, mutual trust, common culture, similar fetishes, and the love of architecture and/or kittens. Think of all the years of getting to know someone only to find out that you are completely mismatched. When all we had to do was say ‘grab my tits, there’s a dear.’ And all would be revealed.

Bras are the bane of my life (did I mention that?). The thing is – they just don’t fit. I don’t have those nice organised tits that are round and the nipples point semi-skyward. Never have. I have those sort of breasts that are more triangular and my nipples tend to like the view of my stomach more than my chin. So no matter which way I wadge them into a bra it’s all wrong. No longer. I have, after only a lifetime of searching, found the bra. It’s fantastic. It understands me. It understands that gravity exists. It understands my breasts, my breasts understand it. They are as mutually compatible as the aforementioned large-handed man and I are. I am in love. I look fantastic. My breasts, supported by this most magnificent piece of clothing, are no longer triangular but enormous and round.

The lawyer said ‘Mum, see, I told you you needed on of those bras.’ (hooray for the good advice of lawyers). The physicist said ‘Mum, your breasts look huge in that bra.’
The cat said ‘meow’. The beloved said ‘What are we talking about?’ The new lover with the large hands said ‘Take off that brassiere my dear’. Or was that Barry White?