Impaled

It happened. It happens to us all at some point. I’m having a great day. I look good, I smell good, I feel good. I’m in the middle of handling something like the pro I am, feeling amazing about myself and everything I bring to the table at work, home, school or wherever it is I am. But then…

BAM!

Oh. My. God. Am I dead? I died! I’m dying right? Is it bleeding???

My favorite bra. My bra that gave the pep to my boobs that allowed me to feel I could take on the world, has turned on me! Et tu, Brute? I feel the death of underwire, stabbing into the underside of my poor defenseless boob. Trying to find its way through my ribs and through my heart, to end me once and for all.

But I’m in the middle of being a bad ass. What do I do??? Tis’ a scratch I tell myself. I’ll mask the pain, I’ll make it through. But in reality, my skin aches, my boob aches, my heart aches at the loss of my favorite bra. The beautiful day at hand shattered, by the underwire of my closest ally. The traitor has impaled me. And it hurts, deep into my soul!

 

 

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*I would like to give a shout out to Victoria’s Secret, for dipping their underwires in some type of rubbery goodness, so I can be softly murdered by my own bra instead of sharply stabbed. Thank you, I love you ❤ *

 

 

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