Bra-la-la

"Hey, nice rack, Rita," said nobody ever.

... Unless they were talking about, like, the spice rack my husband bought me when we lived in Germany. (Which come to think of it is pretty nice.)

The only "nice rack" currently adding spice to my life.

It's true. I've never had a decent set of boobs. Even pre-kids, they weren't anything to rave about. They've never been big enough to really have cleavage, and even if they were bigger, they're spaced so far apart that I probably wouldn't have had cleavage anyway. And now that I've birthed and nursed four children? Fuhgeddaboutit. They've been inflated and deflated and stretched (remember this post?) so much that they're now mere shadows of their former not-so-glorious selves. Pitiful. Like basset hound ears, only with nipples.

... And less fur, obviously. (I may have a beard, but thankfully that's the worst of my body-hair problems.)

Which is why I've never really had a nice bra. I think the most I've ever paid for a bra is, like, $25 - and I wore it until it was, like, gray and the underwire was bent and kept sticking the crap out of me and a couple of the hooks didn't even hook any more. I had to get my money's worth, y'all.

My current bra wardrobe consists of a seven-dollar plain white cotton number from Walmart and two hand-me-downs that my sister bought at a drugstore or someplace similarly weird like a decade ago (I'm not exaggerating). It's because this one time I was changing at her house and she saw my raggedy bra and was shocked at its ridiculousness and raided her extensive lingerie drawer (because unlike me, she was blessed with the type of boobs women pay for. Thanks genetics) and practically threw them at me. Her old bras, not her boobs.

Even when I was childless and considerably firmer and had disposable income, I never felt the "girls" were worthy of actual lingerie - one of those sexy, lacy push-up numbers from Victoria's Secret or wherever. I should have known better, but hindsight is 20/20. Kind of like when I found, like, one dimple of cellulite when I was twenty and decided I was fat. *sigh* And now, it's too late. It feels almost like a joke to even think about rolling them up and putting my decidedly un-sexy breasts into a sexy bra.

So I'll continue to stuff them into this raggedy cotton holster until it completely wears out and I have no choice but to purchase ... another cheap bra. I know I should invest, but there's just so much other stuff that I could spend my money on: like my kids. Which is where my money typically goes anyway.

Or, you know, some chocolate.