The Bright Side

Being, to put it kindly, a sporadic member of the gym-going community, I am not skilled in taking off sports bras. In fact, until recently I had never owned one. Until even more recently I had never actually put one on. This may explain why I had such difficulty taking one off last night.

After going to the gym, I stripped off the rest of my clothes easily enough so I didn't expect any trouble as I grabbed the straps of my sports bra and attempted to move my arms through them. Unfortunately, I discovered that the bra was glued to my body through its own technology and the force of my sweat.

I tried to shimmy it over my torso, easing the straps down my arms at the same time. This only twisted the bra into unnatural shapes and squished my boobs.

Switching tactics, I grabbed at the back of the bra and attempted to peel it, man-style, over my head. This led to a terrifying moment in which the sports bra was wrapped around my upper back, neck and mouth, trapping my flailing arms in an awkward position above my head.

I managed to grab the back of the bra and wrench it up a bit, which was encouraging until I realized the maneuver had rendered me half-blind and nearly immobile. I began to slowly suffocate while nervously giggling.

Obviously the situation was resolved since I am alive and free to use my hands to type the tale, but it did occur to me that, despite low rent and exposed brick, Re-Boyfriend’s apartment comes with Re-Boyfriend. Which means that if ever I were to be naked again while partially mummified in a smelly sports bra, he would see it and my mystique, whatever is left of it, would be gone.

So there is a bright side to everything. Even my imminent real-estate induced poverty.