Weird title, but work with me.
I’ve been redesigning my blog. Tech scares me, but I’m willing to learn. Recent webinars from WordPress experts have helped. They’re thankfully recorded, so I can go back and remind myself what I thought I understood, but really didn’t. (SO much.)
The good news about the redesign is I was able to edit and streamline the whole thing. Clean house a bit. It’s a work in progress, so thanks for your patience if it’s ugly.
As I was reading the blog entries, I noticed a pattern: I love to put a bow on the end, wrap things up nicely.
This means I always have my life held together, I’m right-side out, and I’m headed in a socially-approved direction.
Such utter shite.
Let’s go back to the training bra. For anyone under 40, these were basically white (always white!) lacy but-not-in-a-slutty-way pieces of stretchy fabric that came in a box and looked like a bra, and hooked like a bra, but did absolutely nothing.
BUT if you started sprouting little bumps in elementary school, you got to wear one!
It was a big deal in 5th grade! A sign that you weren’t a little kid any more. Cool girls got them early but really didn’t need them. Early-pubescent girls that needed actual support were teased about them.
(By the way, searching images for “old teen training bra” made me feel like a complete creeper. But maybe that’s why this girl looks 27?)
I still don’t know if the “training” part was for the wearer to practice those hooks? For some reason I thought it was so my boobs would grow in properly.
These bras always had a little bow in the middle. A stupid maddening bow that poked through every shirt and looked like it belonged glued to a miniature poodle’s ear.
Putting a bow on it. Poodles aside, I vow to rid this blog of bow placement:
- I don’t have anything together.
- I put my bikini top on inside out this morning. And swam with it that way, tag showing.
- There’s still dog puke from last night on the bath mat. It’s now noon.
- My boobs are untrained Frankentits with mastectomy scars, so the training bra was pointless, for me and them. (And the irony of the pink bow does NOT escape me.)
- I just had a hot flash, so I’m writing this wearing nothing but an old neon-orange “bralette” (read: no underwire), which is too big but was on sale super cheap at The Rack (how appropriate!).
Not putting a bow here, well ok maybe I am. Just a small one. I’m done with training for nothing. It feels amazing to finally let all the imperfections hang out.
Next entry will be back to swimming, but just had to get this one off my chest.