I have twenty minutes to tell you that my boobs are going to be happy campers once again. I have not bought a new bra in over two years, which is bad, because I usually own three that I wear on rotation and wash in the washing machine and accidentally throw in the dryer and generally treat rather horribly.

The one I am wearing today is getting me back for my maltreatment by giving me a rash around my armpits. It is also somehow making my nipples uncomfortable.

I have a gift card for The Bay, and when I get there, I am heading straight for the Wonderbra and Maidenforms. I want something sturdy and comfortable, something that doesn't twist or itch or poke or create those unsightly bulges along the top edges of the cups. I want something practical like my mother's brassieres yet something that is still appealing enough to keep me out of the those-who-would-wear-mom-jeans category.

I want anything that doesn't do what my bras are all wont to do at their advanced ages: creep, itch, create lumps where none were before, rub, lose strap traction, and poke me mercilessly in the side where their underwires have worked their way through.

Why wear one, then, you ask? Because I am a C-cup verging on a D, which is a bouncy size to be, and I have ridiculously pokey nipples that I don't like wearing band-aids over.

Stop pretending that you wish I weren't telling you this. You needed to know this. You needed to know all of it. Without it, your mission would have been incomplete.

What mission, you ask? Don't play dumb with me. I've already given you too much information.

The café in Vienna was full of white-suited men eating pound cake.

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