Just a while back, I had a bra-piphany. I was saved. I learned that I could spin my bra so that I wouldn't have to do it up in the back, thereby saving me from further damage to the rotator cuff on my right arm and also saving me from having to replace my entire bra collection with front-closure brassieres. Only took me 35 years of bra wearing to be set straight on this account.
"Bright girl, shame about the stupidity..."
This new-fangled bra spinning worked spectacularly through the late spring... "Hey look at me, not needing my husband or child to help me into my bra!! Boo yeah!!"
Now though, it's summer, and summer is Strapless Bra season. The modern strapless bras? The ones that work? Have this sticky pseudo-gel stuff (akin to what they use to keep perfume samples in magazines or on the tops of stay-up stockings), on the inside of the underband to keep your girls supported, with minimal re-adjustment of your bra.
Strapless bras have to be tighter around your ribcage than your average bra, so that they'll defy gravity's effects upon your ta-tas. I put the cups to my back, and tighten the band snugly - this is the time do it up on the furthest hook and eye, you know, just to be safe... and then I try to spin the sucker.
"Oh, for the love of Howard Hughes... Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!! Sweet merciful Mother of Support!" I look down, trying to see if I'd actually torn skin from my injured torso.
"What? What did you do??" Rissa is now in the doorway.
"Bra burn! Bra burn!!!" I point to the offending band with its dangerous gel. "They need a warning label for this! How could they not have a warning label for this?!?"
Rissa is biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Do you need some help?"
I'm a BIG GIRL, I can do this. It's just a freaking bra... Reach back and... I slump. "Yes please."
"Asking for help is very mature."