Brassiere vs Otto Titsling

I met a friend for brunch on a somewhat sunny summery day. Which means if you’re sitting outdoors and the person you’re having lunch with is wearing a tube top held up by transparent bra-straps with dinkchak glitter on them, you’re going to have shiny disco balls in your eyes all through lunch. Not used to poking my eyes with swords of light for pleasure, I did what any girl does: I came back and bitched about this woman and her utter lack of taste in bras to Mousey. I generally expect my girlfriends to empathize and nod in agreement when I’m being the fashion police but not this time. Mousey proudly declares, “Hey! I wear them too." 

Which is when I called her the "30 year old going on 16”. Because, you know, it was acceptable when you were sixteen. It’s acceptable now if you wear wrong sized bras, wear that stuff from Victoria’s Secret with PINK painted all over the ass and maybe, if you come from that part of the world where they manufacture see-through bra-straps and you can buy them in factory outlets. ON DISCOUNT. 

But even if you’re not from that part of the world, you’ll still see so many Indian women flaunting their 34Bs. No, no they don’t all come in one size but if you end up walking around in any neighborhood you’re sure to see a 38DD spilling out of a 34B.  What’s up with that, people? It’s almost like every Indian woman is afraid of NOT being a 34B. I was patiently explaining all this to Mousey when she had a eureka moment, “How do they fit then?” Well, hello! They DON’T. That’s how you know they are wearing the wrong bra, duh! Because when you see them jiggling around like that you really want to hang a warning sign around their necks: “BUMPS AHEAD”. 


Screw the color, size matters.