When I was about 11 years old, my mother announced to me that it was time to take the first step into womanhood, which was the acquisition of my first bra.
Disturbingly, the shopping experience involved both my mother and my father, and a bra was chosen for me after carefully inspecting perfect fit and overall decency as to not corrupt my innocence.
The result was a white cotton bra with all around elastic straps, a very comfortable model, and I was very excited about it.
Fast-forward a couple of years, I got acquainted with the metal-wired, flesh-biting version that would become the norm, as cotton and elastic were unable to support the increasing weight of my bosom which continued to grow long after everything else had stopped.
They pull on your shoulders, they restrict airflow, they require constant adjusting and despite becoming as normal as wearing underpants, it is not the most pleasant item of clothing.
In addition, it turns out that boys don’t fancy white cotton brasiers, and one is forced to invest in expensive, even more uncomfortable ones that convert everything into crispy-looking juicy apples with a lot of decorative embellishment that may be very pretty, but also very impractical.
Not surprisingly, the height of a woman’s day is the arrival at home and the subsequent removal of the bra.
All my sisters out there will know the freeing feeling of unclasping that hook and finally releasing the pressure of the day. Now you can finally breathe and walk without limitations! Nothing in this world feels better than that moment!
Most importantly, once the bra is off for the day, there is no way we’ll put it back on. There is no spontaneous date or activity that is exciting enough to put the tigers back into their cage after they breathed in the fresh air of freedom.
I truly believe that if the ceremonious bra removal happens at the house of one’s significant other, it is a sign of true love and commitment – because home is where the bra comes off.