This snippet is from a current work in progress, that I think to be an accurate portrayal of a moment in a woman’s life. Please correct where appropriate if I’m wrong:
If the epitome of ‘satisfied relief’ for a woman is that time of day when she can reach around and release the clasp that holds her bra in place, removing each arm and throwing it in no particular direction, then the epitome of awkward ungraceful task is that of putting one on.
It isn’t just a case of offering it to ones breasts, reaching around to fix the clasp and you’re done. Oh no, you have to scoop each breast individually so that it sits just right in the cup, before the adjusting the whole thing until it sits comfortably.
And yet, every woman will tell you that despite it all, they’d always rather dig out ‘that’ bra from a dirty wash pile, than sacrifice themselves with one that was too uncomfortable to wear.