You are the ugliest bra I own. There is nothing nice about you. You are ratty. You look sad. You are well worn and aged. You always get thrown in the dryer, never hung to dry like your tag suggests. More often than not you have mixed-matched pads because the washing machine somehow pulled yours out and they’re floating in the laundry abyss of our house. You probably deserve better, but I never give you the chance.
You are my go-to girl.
You don’t get washed as often as you should (my apologies) and I always toss you in every suitcase I pack. You’re always there. I know I can count on you and I often take you for granted.
You have held up through two pregnancies and children. Somehow you have always stretched and shrunk to accommodate boobs of various sizes. It’s nothing short of magic. It reminds me of the jeans in Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. But everyone knows nobody actually likes jeans, so I think you should have a book series and movies of your own. Moms everywhere could relate to your trustworthiness and go-getter attitude. They’d turn up to the premiere in droves — mom bras on, always, in mutual support.
If I want to be comfortable, it’s you I’m searching for in the heaps of laundry.
You are not flashy. You are not cute. You are dependable and that’s what truly matters, right? (At least that’s what I’m trying to teach my children.) Don’t get me wrong though; you step up to the challenge when needed. People would never know the tired, old, rag of a bra I have on underneath a nice outfit. You are a chameleon, always blending and rising to the challenge.