I wish I had some.
Oh, I have ridiculous impractical things that are really Frederick’s of Hollywood meets The House of Dental Floss.
But those are for special occasions. Like “White Trash Day,” and for when we find a couch for free on the corner.
Those events occasionally coincide.
But here is one of those situations where there will be argument and anarchy because this is a grass is greener situation and I have grass that you will think is green, but as far as I’m concerned is dead, full of weeds, and ready to be replaced with something more attractive. Like broken glass or garden gnomes.
Let’s ponder the typical lingerie department.
There are lovely colors and florals. There are sexy silhouettes. There is lace. There are necklines plunging deeper than a Chilean coal miner.
Then there is the wall – it is always in the back – of the Foundation Garments.
Wagner envisioned these sorts of things for mountainously bosomed Helgas who would be singing first soprano while wearing a helmet with yak horns.
This is the wall I have to walk to.
There is no lace, there is spandex.
There are no pretty flowers, there is beige.
There are no sexy straps, there are flying buttresses.
I turn away from the wall and look at the sea of pretty things. Lacy things. Feminine things.
They all have padding.
With padding I am visible from space.
I turn back to face the Wall of 18 Hour Support and Whalebone.
I flick through the racks (no pun intended) hoping for something, anything, sexy. Or dainty. Or at least not suggestive of a plumber with a gland problem.
It is not to be.
Nope. I am destined for underwire and fortifications designed to withstand a 7.2 on the Richter scale. The Army Core of Engineers can only aspire to the kind of structural integrity that secret teams of German brassiere designers somehow manage to incorporate into a few square inches of spandex and polyester.
Yes, it’s true. You could transport a car across the English Channel in one of my bras. And not some whimpy import car. Detroit steel.
So while there may be those that are jealous, take comfort in knowing that while you envy me my cup size, I envy you your cups.
With their pretty flowers and their lace trimmed edges.