I sought the bra, and the bra won

Dressing like a grown-ass woman starts with the fundamentals

We certainly have our issues, black bra. In fact, this morning was a complete disaster thanks to you.

See, I had it all planned. Today it was going to be the black dress. The wraparound one with the short sleeves. Sure it was a little chilly this morning, but with that dress and a light sweater, and my new boots, I would have killed it all damn day.

Everything else cooperated. The boots, check. The sweater, check. The grandma underpants that keep everything from jiggling in my killer black wraparound dress, check. Even the nude hose were ready.

Did you hear me? I was planning HOSE! Dressing like a grown-ass woman today. It was a power suit kind of day.

Only without the power suit, the only power suits I still own being the kind with shoulder pads. From the 90s. The ones that can say with a straight face: I got a head for business and a bod for sin, is there anything wrong with that?

Indeed there is. Not the look I was going for.

And where were YOU, black bra? After my shower, I had a total of five minutes to slap on some authority for the day, along with my in-your-face earrings and superwoman scarf. But everything was stymied for the lack of one specific undergarment.

And we know that dress won’t cooperate without you. The neckline is just plunge-y enough, even with the superwoman scarf, there could be a little exposed strap thing going on once in a while, which is just poor grooming.

Yes, the black athletic bra volunteered to step in for you and help with the black wraparound dress, but that dress just can’t pull off the uniboob. Takes away from the grown-ass woman look.

So, no black bra, no black wraparound dress. Okay, black skirt and black … what? Turtleneck? Sure, it was freezing out right then, but by 2 pm that afternoon I’d be sweating like I was having a hot flash. And we know I don’t glow. I wilt and then I melt and then I congeal into a puddle of goo.

So the turtleneck wasn’t going to happen.

So what, then? Aha! This black blouse that didn’t need ironing. Looked great, didn’t need any special undergarments either. But then what the HELL was going on with the skirt? Holy mother of God what was THAT?

Looked like the granny panties were putting my butt in a headlock.

GAH! What was I thinking with that skirt and the granny panties? The granny panties would only work with the black wraparound dress, which is out of the question because of YOU, black bra.

And this wasn’t the first time you let me down, black bra. Your stretchy is just about stretched out. Something I never remember until about half way through the day – that you’re really no longer able to do your damn job. And you only have ONE JOB, black bra.

So, here I was pulling blouses off hangers and throwing the content of my whole closet and all the drawers out all over the bed looking for just the right combination of over, under, outer garments and accessories and I WAS LATE, for God sake. Sweet mother Mary, crap on a cracker, I had to get kids to school yet and the day was already off the damn rails because YOU apparently choose right this moment to take a POWDER.

So, tunic had to save the day, just like always. Poor, unsung, shapeless tunic, which doesn’t make much of a kick-ass statement, at least can camouflage the continuing altercation between the skirt and granny panties – granny panties which keep all the jiggly stuff from jiggling, but can’t otherwise be counted on to get along with anything, from clingy skirt to jeans.

I was completely dressed and deflated, my room was a mess, and the boy was hollering at me to get in the car, before I remembered….

I remembered planning out this whole ensemble the night before, which was when I set you aside just because my whole outfit pivoted on your saggy padded polyester panels.

Sure enough, there you were, hanging on the hanger with the black wraparound dress, looking like you had no idea all this uproar was going on right next to you.

All this time, I was freaking out, and you were chilling. Like What? I’m just here. What do I have to do to get your attention?

Well, you know what? You can just shut it, black bra. You’re dead to me.


Have you ever had your day derailed by your underwear? Am I the only person who anthropomorphizes her clothing? Either way, a vote is called for. One click a day makes up for the crap my bra puts me through.

Thank you.


Photo by: James Vaughan

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  1. This is so funny! Laughed the whole way through. My morning derailments are usually due to not realizing something I plan on wearing is either in the dirty clothes basket or in serious need of ironing.

    1. Thank you! And don\’t you hate the secret stain that you don\’t notice until you\’re wearing something, then you spend half the morning hoping is just some water that got splashed on you and the other half trying to figure out what to wear instead?

  2. I don\’t anthropomorphize my wardrobe, but my kids do. When I tell my daughter I hate her torn-up jeans and wish she would throw them out, she pets them and tells them they\’re beautiful. She tells them not to worry because she will protect them from mean old mom.
    My son has a different relationship with his favorite tee shirts. He attributes his own identity to them.
    \”My shirt doesn\’t like you looking at it that way.\” \”Mom, you can\’t throw it away. You\’ll be throwing ME away.\”
    They should both be stand-up comics. They know if they make me laugh, it\’s all good.

  3. Hilarious post!
    And yes. I think that is why I have so few bras to begin with; there are clearly some trust issues there.