I have no shoulders

My body and my clothes have always had this passive-aggressive hateful relationship. The leettle-too-long pants are always getting stepped on by my heel and decide to "show" my feet a thing or two by unraveling at the hem and looking like they are in the process of devouring my ankles. I'm breaking a very basic Go Fug Yourself principle by because my pants are declaring a not-so-subtle war on my heels. My favorite blouse with a plunging neckline is mad at me for wearing a necklace that always gets caught up in it's lace and therefore refused to lay right and instead of flattering my cleavage, mangles it in retaliation. The strap on my favorite holiday party dress breaking right before the company holiday party, forcing me to make the strappy dress into a strapless dress, just because this is the first light of day (or night) the dress has seen in a few years.

Having got a ways through this rant, I realize two important things: A) I have totally lost any male readership I may have had, including Fighting Nun, because of my sartorial related rant and B) I've just made it out that my clothes are an animate objects with their own little agendas, which yes is a bit strange, but not totally unbelievable. As the great Sars once stated, inanimate does not mean insensate. Which means all my clothes, like I choose to believe, are passive-aggressive meanies who take out their aggression on me in the most severe of ways.

And none is more severe, more passive-aggressive, more mean to me than the bra. On a typical day the bra is like a typical self-destructing relationship. In the morning, when I slip on the white lacy bra, it's so simpatico. I look in the mirror and I swear to God it compliments me, tells me how good I look in it, all passionate and fiery at the start. The second I put on a shirt, or do anything other than admire my reflection in the mirror, it decides to literally pout (what with the straps immediately dropping down off my shoulders and all). I try to make amends by readjusting the strap, convincing the bra that I don't like my shirt more than I like it. I just happen to need both. Just when I think I get a reasonable simblance of mutual cooperation between my bra, my shirt and myself, it happens. The strap drops off my shoulder. Again. And then again. And again, and again. Just like the bad boyfriend you keep taking back even though you totally know better. By the end of the day, I'm so glad to have to whole bloody thing off, I feel liberated, until the hem on my pajama bottom decides to give way...

But I wish it was just the one bra that I seem to have this relationship with. Alas, I think I have the same relationship with all of them. I think some of them also get really pissy with me because even though I put them in the nice little laundry bag to make sure their underwires don't get torqued, they all inevitably get tangled up in each other, a bra orgy if you will (or maybe a bra catfight [hee, bra catfight, that's an awesome band name]) and when I put one of them on, the black one with the clasp in the front, it decides that the whole ordeal was way to demeaning and decides not lay flat but creates a little lip which makes it looks like my cleavage has a skin flap underneath a sweater.

But, the one that still gets me mad is still the bra-strap falling down whenever it damn well feels like it. It just really infuriates me. I've tried readjusting most of my bras to the absolute limit, and they still fall down, which infuriates me more and makes me think I should retaliate by getting out the safety pins (That'll learn you), but the thought of safety pinning my bras at the shoulders makes me really sad. And then I start reflecting, like you do in every self-destructing relationship. "Maybe it's not them. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm really flawed. Maybe it's my posture, or that my shoulders are more round than every one elses and therefore can't handle the strap." The problem is getting so bad that today, even though I'm wearing a strapless bra, I'm still feeling as if my straps are down around my elbows. I mean, can you believe that? Residual Strap Droppage? It bites! So it got me to thinking, maybe the reall problem is I have no shoulders. I'll get back to you on that....