That Time You Went Bra Shopping After Having A Kid

I am the bra for you!

I'm a metal coat hanger twisted into the perfect shape to maul the general vicinity of your curves. Available in lime and fuchsia!

Over here, honey, they call me The Torpedo. Did you see me in that poster with Jane Russell? Just slip me on, and you'll be the lady, he'll be the tramp. Or you'll be the tramp, he'll be Spitzer.

Step right up, ma'am, The Cone can help you contain two scoops of melting ice cream AND fashion the perfect neck accoutrement for your dog, Queen Elizabeth I.

So rude. You're not a ma'am! You are the Squint Reese Witherspoon. (Squint, you're Reese! Normal eyes, not Reese!) I'm the Bandeau, and these are my friends, Wireless, Unlined, and T-Shirt. You can totally sleep with us. We're not clingy. It doesn't even feel like we're there, at least that's what the Abercrombie & Fitch guy says. I mean, we're not trying to make mountains out of mole hills because the mole hills are so perfect.

Screw you, Bandeau, because you know what the Sir Edmund Hillarys of the world want? They want mountains. They want Mount Freaking Everest and guess what, "Wonderbra" is German for "rappelling." You know how Captain Von Trap found his dream? HE CLIMBED EVERY MOUNTAIN. And The Push-Up is going to help raise the flag on those sorry-ass Kilimanjaros.

There, there, now, Memory Foam is going to take you to a happy place. You remember, that place where the cups didn't pucker or gape? Memory Foam, in the corners of your bra! Misty, water-colored, Memory Foam, of the way your breasts once were.

Hey, babe, the tag reads "L'Amour Toujours," but you can call me Sloop John B. I'm going to help you hoist up those windless sails and see how the mainsail sets, you know what I mean? It's been the perfect storm of Age and Breastfeeding and we'll need all hands on deck, so hang on, Sloopy, Sloopy, hang on.

Paging YOU! You with biscotti crumbs on your chin, please report to Natori's new Fed-Ex Center. For when the distribution is off. And the packages overfloweth. Or settle. Or bulge.

Over here, Miss! I am the bra for you and for the record, I see you less as a shipment of damaged goods and more like someone whose shipment shouldn't be traveling third class on alpacas over the Andes. Which is why you need the Convertible! Slip on the Little Red Corvette and first, it's strapless and then it's crossed in the back and then it's conventional and then you cross it in the front and then you put the cups over your ears and you're Princess Leia. It works for all occasions! Like when you go from preschool to home to the park and back home.

Ohmagah, we are training for something, we're not sure what, but you should totally try us on because we'll make you look like Linda Barrett who's in 10th grade. You're walking right past us! Is Aunt Flow visiting or something? You are missing out on the best over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder ever!

Welcome to the section of the store called "Double Post-D." It's everything after "D," but double. Like FF, GG, HH. I'd like to ask you a few questions to ascertain if you truly belong here: "Doooooo.... your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro, can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow?" Excuse me, young lady, I'm not done! Get back here right this instant!

Hey, Mamacita, I don't want to brag but it's common knowledge that I'm the best three-way mirrored dressing room with optimal fluorescent lighting in the joint. Now THAT is the bra for you -- is that beige? You've had that sucker how many years now? It's nice and frayed like that couch on Friends. True, the upstairs tenants seem to be bunking downstairs, but I, myself, like a nice draft in the house -- are you singing, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot?" Look, doll, don't feel bad, "brassiere" is one misplaced "i" away from "brasserie," which is to say that in France, steak-frites trumps undergarments any day. Um, are you actually trying on the Angel Bust World Peace Royalty Honeymoon Silhouette Perfection bra?

Sweet. That bra's the tits.