Sunday, 27 October 2013

When Bra turns Evil


The Panache sport has always been my favourite. Pretty, no. It has always been too chunky and high cut, with thick, thick straps. But oh the shape! Projection that made me look like Scarlett Johansson, and roundness and perky... The band was oh so firm, and hardly seemed to stretch, and it was comfortable. The wires were padded, the whole thing was padded, chafe and rub not did it as I ran and jumped and missed copious buses.
But because of the very full up style, and the way the gore and wire placement isn't visible, it had probably gotten a bit small. No biggy. It was still practically the best bra ever.


Here is my finishers medal. They gave me two. I don't know why. Only one is pictured.

That is, until it went feral. This morning I had a 10km race, in which I was aiming for a sub 50 minute time (spoiler: I didn't make it). At about the 6k mark it felt like something bit me on my sternum. The pain and irritation intensified, but it's not like I was about to pull out of the race because of it. I finished, not particularly concerned with my shitty time - it was a really fun way to spend the morning. Unfortunately, it took us an hour to get home STILL WEARING BRA FROM HELL. It stung so bad every time I moved the bra or wire. When I got home I WHIPPED it off to find a massive, shiny welt that I couldn't even touch. 





There were wire marks all over my right breast, so it was obviously too small, or had done some serious slipping.
I tried showering but I couldn't get the mark wet without considerable pain, so I am half filthy yet. And braless. And managed to put together this charming outfit, which I wore to an art exhibition, and shopping. Oh the joy. It is converse that were once my dads, a jumper that is clearly beyond ravishing, unwashed post-run hair (my shower failed), and tights instead of leggings. Yep, like tights that you wear under a dress, with the funny grey crotch insert:





I am going to go to my local bra boutique once my poor torso is in a state to try anything on and get new sports bras (and maybe not-sports bras as well), and until it heals I can't wear a bra or exercise (involving bounce). I'm so sad because I really thought I could trust my bras! I think there comes a point where even those with a large bra collection, whom they thought they understood, just get thrown a complete curve ball. I have honestly no idea what the converted-to-the-dark-side bra experience was about, or what caused it. In a way, it is almost humbling, to know that no matter how much I think (or know) I can control about my running, or clothing, or life, I can't control everything, eliminate all variables and factors of random (sometimes unpleasant surprises). I guess there's a lesson in that.

And it is NOT fun running for a bus braless :(

Xoxoxo,

Princess

Monday, 7 October 2013

No Posts and Driving

I know I haven't posted anything for near on two weeks. I really have almost nothing to write about. I am devoid of ideas. Its like I've fallen into a big black hole of apathy. I know I promised a part two of the Australian lingerie market, and it will come... eventually... right now I am busy being a blob.

A sad, freaked out blob that feels like shes been kicked in the head. I am just learning to drive, and first touched a wheel just over a week ago. My mum and I went to yoga and she was all prepared to let me drive on this one long, quiet street on the way back. Just after the traffic lights at the bottom of the road she pulled into a spot, we got out and switched seats, and I put my learner plates on the car.

I adjusted the seat, indicted, gears, whatever. And lost my head and tuned out way to fast and not sharp enough, scraping the back of the car in front of us quite visibly. My mum freaked and we switched back, whereupon I started crying in horror over what I had done; maimed an innocent persons car, probably maimed my mums car, ruined all my nascent driving confidence, and proved myself as one big, fat, horrible, dangerous liability.

We wrote a note and put it under the damaged car's windscreen wipers apologizing and with my mums number to call and sort out paying for the damage.  Which leads on to the next 'Oh SHIT', cost. Whether my mum makes me pay that couple of hundred dollars (which I can completely not afford. At all), or pays for it herself, its a shit-load of money blown in about three seconds on something as dumb and irresponsible as that, which could have been prevented by me not f***ing getting behind the wheel and thinking I could drive.


This is what I feel like

So yes, I feel terrible and really shaken up.
Thank you.