Two brassieres, both alike in elasticity...

I hold two white pull-on sports bras in my hands.  I hadn't thought I had two exactly the same.  I lay them side by side on the bed, trying to find the well-washed sizing labels.  AHA!  Maybe if I put one on top of the other!

Yes!  The one on top is definitely smaller.  I lift it up and can see a very faint "S" on the inside back. 

"This is totally Rissa's.  I have just averted disaster!"

"Glad to hear," says David.

"If I had tried to stuff the girls in there?  Pandemonium."  I give a self-congratulatory fist bump to the air.

I start inserting my person into the correct brassiere.

"Oh for the love of..."

"You okay over there?"

"I'm good."

One full arm is through the sports bra.  I am struggling with the other arm.  My elbow is caught.  Then it's not.  The bra is now tight around my collar bone - a man-made fabric boa constrictor. I wrestle with the brassiere's band.

"SWEET MERCIFUL MOSES!"

"What?"

"I just stabbed myself with my fingernail."

"How?"  (David has yet to look at me.)

"Because," I pant, "this brassiere is made to keep breasts down, so it's super..." SNAP!  "Oh COME ON!"

 "You need some help there?"

"No, I'm fine."  I continue my struggle.  I pause.  Struggle again.  Stop.  "Yes please."

"We could make money from this on pay-per-view."

"Har-dee-fucking-har."

He notices my bleeding finger.  "Jeeze.  You weren't kidding."

"I'm telling you.  This is a full-contact sport.  Just imagine if two women were doing this."

"I say again - we need our own pay-per-view channel."