Tuesday, 6 January 2009


I did a real dumb thing today . Rushed into the Farmers 50% off lingerie sale and grabbed two bras without giving them a trial run. One was an "increase the cleavage number" and the other was a mechanical marvel designed to deal with weighty issues and gravity's foul deeds and "minimise me."Hell, I thought only surgery could do that but I was willing to give it a whirl.

You know you are in trouble and need to lose some weight when the shop girl gives you a bag that would hold a beer fridge, to carry two bras out of the shop.

The Cleavage number first - its white and shocking pink - and considering my advancing years, 50 is creeping up the back stairs, we are now more suited to mauve, beige and the occasional saucy black, it was definitely an impulse buy.

I got home wondering why people had been giving me quizzical looks wandering down Manners Mall - I found out when I bent down to get the key to the door and nearly sent a broken underwire up my left nostril. There was no doubt in my nose that I needed new support.

I stripped off and held the the shocking pink padded titty hammocks aloft and swung them on. I stopped breathing - true! My boobies were pushed so far up they were nuzzling my bruised nostrils. I let down the straps to see if that would help and I swear I heard my titskies sigh. The cleavage was so deep and long that it rivalled the Manawatu gorge.

I took the pinkie pouches off and I swear again that my mammaries did a little jiggle of their own volition in celebration of being free.

I wondered if I could strap it to the new shed and grow plants in it.

So onto the second. I leaned over, as they old bra fitting bitches of my traumatised past taught me and hiffed it on. In a mammary moment I realised why the "minimiser" was on sale. My bountiful breasts rested somewhere between my armpits and my shoulder blades. I tried to swing them into position but nearly knocked myself out. They just schlurped back under my arms so that I looked like I had a footy ball under each wing and a chest as flat as the paddock the game is played on.

I wrestled it off - the cups are too flaccid to provide the support needed for wall planters but I reckon, at a pinch, I can strain the jelly jam through them.

Anyway I am demoralised - $64 ( the price of a bowl of crayfish bisque at Zicos and a lovely bottle of soave ) wasted.

And for the record the picture is not me - silly boys, she is clearly a FF cup.

So if anyone would like the offending 18DD unused pink plant hanger and the jelly jam strainers - email me - I will post em for free.


Lee Clark said...

I was going to go to bed early, but now find I can't stand up. You hussy.

Anonymous said...

what the monkey said

wino said...


This time last year at the same sale in the same avoid the changingroom modus operandi I got a teal and white number that sounds pretty much like your pink job. I consigned it to the bottom of the underwear drawer after one attempt to wear it when I found I had 'enhanced' and lifted to levels waayyy beyond my expectations....

Anonymous said...

Are those really your knockers BB?

Impressive to say the least if they are!!

Anonymous said...

Apologies BB - I should have read the whole thing shouldn't I.