I don’t want to write this post. Someone already wrote this post and it was hysterical and I love her and why is there even anything else to be said, really.
Ok but then I got sunburned. Don’t even with the ooo but you’re irresponsible mess. No. I used SPF 55 (I normally use 15, but the sun out here is the fire soaked equivalent of Zeuss’ wandering dick) and it did FUCKALL. No. Also, don’t worry, because on day 2 of Zeuss’ firedick, I upped it to SPF90 and that shit was like seepage scented paint ok. And I coated my entire self with it because fuck a sunburn.
But no, whatever, apparently once you’re sunburned, the only possible thing that can happen to you is realizing that everyone is a liar and nothing is comforting and you will die itchy. I only bring this up because it’s not like my shoulders are sunburned. Nope; they’re fine. Also fine: my face.
My cleavage looks like two cystic pimples fighting over who can be creepiest. It’s a tie, by the way. You know what this has to do with bras? Oh here let me tell you: swimsuit tops believe in sunsoaked boobs. It’s so romantic, right? Ooooo the sunsoaked boobs in the sun near the waves and it’s all shiny.
Lie. Swimsuits don’t give a corn laced shit about your boobs. The proof is in their epic failure to be remotely comfortable, but also: the coverage is lower than every single bra on the planet. Yes it is. Wtf bras are you even wearing. It’s ok, you probably got confused and are wearing a swimsuit as a bra. It happens. I’m not judging. About that.
So anyways, several years ago I went on a fuck-a-bra rampage and decided to never wear anything with underwire ever again. NOPE. Underwire has given me welts. It has made me bleed on two separate occasions involving two different bras, one of them close to brand new, and neither of them cheap. I have been sized left right and center (side note: if you’re still doing the underwire thing, I 100% agree with the top notch Nordstrom experience quoted in the link at the beginning of this piece), and exactly zero of them fit well for more than half an hour. Fuck a faux functional flesh sack. I threw them all out and started wearing wireless things. A lot of them are these stretchy types that look like less aggressive sports bras. Zero of them have bullshit straps the size of a possum pube. -7 of them are the skimpy farce shards that comprise most swimsuit tops.
I’ve been sitting in my house, soaked in aloe, slurping my way through gallons of water, just waiting for the nonsense to end. Except school is starting and I need to wear clothes. FUCK CLOTHES. Fuck a sunburn. Fuck every single bra, wireless or not, and fuck the social standard that says I’m not allowed to scream incessantly until all my skin falls off and I pass out from diverted pain relief.
On an unrelated side note: A student’s parent asked me what was going on career wise, and I told her about some choices I’d made. I explained as sparsely as I could, but it’s my narrative, and bullshit behaviors were involved in my choices, so…you know, ‘sparse’. She listened, and when I started to struggle, she interjected, ‘I am so proud of you. That is amazing, and I am amazed with you.’ And, I cried.
What is it about a little reach out of nowhere that can make all your frayed ends meet and close?