OT

I hate bras.

I hate brassieres, over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders, japanese slingshots, bandeaus, camisoles, unmentionables, sports bras, lacy bras, wired bras, padded bras, pushup bras, lifting and separating, cross your heart and hope to die, I just hate bras.

Unfortunately, I have huge tracts of land and should never take up jogging.

I refuse to enter another store and try on bras in the semi-discreet public dressing rooms, because if I do, I know I'll want to murder someone. Anything remotely close to my size will hurt, itch, or both. I'll have the unpleasant 6-pack effect of two over the top and one out each side for most bras I try on. And I will go home with a rash. Anything designed to hold back babies arguing under a blanket will not be pretty, although they will slather lace in an attempt to apply the sexy label. Trust me, just some whipped cream makes them much sexier and has the added benefit of not hurting.

So for my new year's resolution, I'm going to make my own damn bras and to hell with commercially purchased bras. I'm begging for a book that's all about making one's own, and dammit I am going to. I treasure my comfort.  ¶ 6:40 PM