Braffering: Suffering by Bra


Women, especially of the African variety, aren’t new to this. In fact, since we could do the shuffle out of our mother’s womb, we’ve been told that our ability to withstand suffering is the principal thing — so we seek it at all cost. You see this behavior exhibited in women who suffer through domestic abuse of all kinds, workplace abuse, and so on.

With that in mind, let’s talk about another form of suffering that’s commonplace, albeit innocuous — the ones we women inflict on ourselves with the deadly contraptions called bras.

Today, while at work, yours truly felt a sharp pain (finally) on her left endowment. This pain wasn’t new. As a matter of fact, if memory recall is to be relied upon, the pain had been there for as many days as that particular bra was worn in the past week (a number greater than one #ifyouknowyouknow) but I ignored it. Or strangely enough, I didn’t just pay attention to the sharp pain that was coursing through my body. It might interest you to know that the source of the pain was no other culprit than the underwire metallic construction that was meant to hold and bolster the left and right endowments in place. Talk about betrayal of the highest order! Far from making my endowments stay in place, the underwires (the left one specifically) were stabbing me. I attempted to manipulate the left one back into place, but it kept jutting out and causing increasing pain with every bodily movement I made.

So I went straight to the ladies’ room, removed the underwire, and threw it in the bin. I decided that having a contorted endowment was better than impaling myself to death. Because now the right one looked loftier and well-positioned than the left one — like a rich man in his lofty tower looking down at the plebs in the shanties below. But this act of rebellion at the workplace was one of kindness — to self, to reduce suffering, and improve quality of life and survival. And this should suffice until I get home — where charity begins. Charity, as operationally defined as flinging the bra into oblivion once I pull into my garage.

Home, a place where the bra isn’t.

And then my suffering, at least this very kind, will end.

Suffering. Women, thou art loosed. Don’t suffer anymore.

PS: Now that I am technically down one bra, and a black one for that matter (weeps in Swahili), I welcome suggestions on purchasing a good bra. And for the menfolk reading this, hug your spouses and girlfriends tighter (or shake your sisters’ hands), you never know what they might be going through. If you enjoyed this content, you can read my old post here about my embattled history with bras. And don’t forget to share, subscribe, and leave a comment too!

#Braffering #FreeTheGirls #Bringtheothergirlshome #LetItGo #BRAvo #Thanksforthesupport

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I'm ME: replete with the mien of a bard, scholar, Argonaut, Jesus-lover, funfinder, bibliophile, Koreanophile, partner, and wanderer!

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