As far as daily life goes, three seconds of my mornings are spent in pulling out a bra from my drawer. Today however, I had to take slightly longer. My beloved black bra was tearing up a little. I didn't really want to throw it out, although it was nearly three years old. It had become an intimate part of my existence. Besides, it still fit well.
Some of us girls are really picky with our bras. We'd like a halter neck that is bright red, or a loud pink one to wear under our white shirts. The strapless whites to go with the new salwar-kameez and the purple push-ups for our Friday night tees. And then we pay special attention to the amount of lace on it and the feel of the under-wiring. Nothing would please us more than finding the perfect pair of matching panties (at a discount price).
I too am extremely uptight with my choice in bras and the bra-shop-lady in the local BDA complex despises me like a printed yellow butterfly on the pantie. Nevertheless, she lays out all the black bras she has got, until I ask her to put back everything that is not made of combed cotton. Then, I begin rejecting the un-sexy looking ones and whine about the white lettering of the brand name on the rest. When I'm finally done paying for those two or three lucky bastards who get to touch my boobs, the bra auntie is happy to see me leave.
Mamma always gives me that disgusted look when I add my new bras to the already existing mass of black. The Bill of the Black Bra bothers her because I don't buy the multi-coloured sets of three that are cheaper. She regards me as a child possessed as she asks the old question again: WHY BLACK???
"Because it's not loud!" I say
"Who's going to see it, anyway?" she asks. And that is one question I refuse to answer!
You see, my black bra and I have this great thing going on between us. I tell everybody who he is in a way that makes him seem mysterious and sexy. In return, he lies unseen under any and all things I wear, always sticking to his "no lines" promise. I can not allow just ANYONE to graze my boobs. He has to be someone special. And he earns that special place close to my heart by supporting me unfailingly ALL night and also all day. And yes, still at night.
I know I'm talking as if my bra is my boyfriend, but in all practical terms, it is the only long-term boyfriend a woman can have. The bra and the cleavage are complementary- they have to be a carefully matched pair.
My black bra is my boyfriend who is dignified in his colour, sexy in his very design and makes the mission of his life to give me an uplifting confidence. While every one of us women have this boyfriend, we know that we cannot have two guys at the same time. When one comes in, the other comes off. But it's not like we get a real "boyfriend" whenever we feel like it! If you ask me, I'd rather keep the faithful bra that effortlessly pushes me up me when I'm down.
My bra is steadfast in his resolve to be by my side but there are those random occasions when he feels a little naughty. He slips out from under my sleeve and makes quite a few girls gasp. It is then that my friend Anisha clears her throat, drops her voice and says in my ear- "Abhi, your boyfriend is peeking on the left".
Some of us girls are really picky with our bras. We'd like a halter neck that is bright red, or a loud pink one to wear under our white shirts. The strapless whites to go with the new salwar-kameez and the purple push-ups for our Friday night tees. And then we pay special attention to the amount of lace on it and the feel of the under-wiring. Nothing would please us more than finding the perfect pair of matching panties (at a discount price).
I too am extremely uptight with my choice in bras and the bra-shop-lady in the local BDA complex despises me like a printed yellow butterfly on the pantie. Nevertheless, she lays out all the black bras she has got, until I ask her to put back everything that is not made of combed cotton. Then, I begin rejecting the un-sexy looking ones and whine about the white lettering of the brand name on the rest. When I'm finally done paying for those two or three lucky bastards who get to touch my boobs, the bra auntie is happy to see me leave.
Mamma always gives me that disgusted look when I add my new bras to the already existing mass of black. The Bill of the Black Bra bothers her because I don't buy the multi-coloured sets of three that are cheaper. She regards me as a child possessed as she asks the old question again: WHY BLACK???
"Because it's not loud!" I say
"Who's going to see it, anyway?" she asks. And that is one question I refuse to answer!
You see, my black bra and I have this great thing going on between us. I tell everybody who he is in a way that makes him seem mysterious and sexy. In return, he lies unseen under any and all things I wear, always sticking to his "no lines" promise. I can not allow just ANYONE to graze my boobs. He has to be someone special. And he earns that special place close to my heart by supporting me unfailingly ALL night and also all day. And yes, still at night.
I know I'm talking as if my bra is my boyfriend, but in all practical terms, it is the only long-term boyfriend a woman can have. The bra and the cleavage are complementary- they have to be a carefully matched pair.
My black bra is my boyfriend who is dignified in his colour, sexy in his very design and makes the mission of his life to give me an uplifting confidence. While every one of us women have this boyfriend, we know that we cannot have two guys at the same time. When one comes in, the other comes off. But it's not like we get a real "boyfriend" whenever we feel like it! If you ask me, I'd rather keep the faithful bra that effortlessly pushes me up me when I'm down.
My bra is steadfast in his resolve to be by my side but there are those random occasions when he feels a little naughty. He slips out from under my sleeve and makes quite a few girls gasp. It is then that my friend Anisha clears her throat, drops her voice and says in my ear- "Abhi, your boyfriend is peeking on the left".
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