A recent article on intimate wear got me rolling my eyes on the number of exhaustive bra excursions i've had. Back in Delhi's Sarojini Nagar Market, there was a male sales shop assistant who sized me up with one look and proceeded to whip out wholesome cotton designs like he was showing off the latest designer kurtis. when i arrived here, i ran to the nearest vic's secret to get myself all properly measured by helpful female sales staff - only to learn that to afford the best for the twins, one must go on a rameen noodle diet for at least 2 weeks. while i've learnt to acquire some decent innerwear without getting too broke, i did refrain from touching certain apparel which i knew - for the lack of a better term - was going to be a bust.
anyho, when a friend got me a gift cert recently, i finally decided to invest in that strange engineering malfunction known as a strapless bra. imagine begging a piece of material with some metal hooks to come together for a good cause. they tend to oblige but only for the sake of it. what happens when they do is a complete disaster. along with my boobs, my self-esteem plunges into this abyss until i start crying: "please, lord, give me back the straps!!"
yes, life does go on without a strapless bra... but it would be nice to have one that works. for me, at least!