Not long after I donned said bra, I began itching furiously. There is nothing more un-sexy than a woman scratching her chest and constantly adjusting herself in hopes that it will stop.
Scritch. Scra-a-a-a-atch. Itch. Scritch scratch. Itchy itchy. What are there, bugs in my blouse?
"What is wrong with you?" Dan asked, looking at me in utter horror. Even the dog looked at me curiously. I peeked down my shirt and noted that a red rash was quickly spreading over my skin.
I tried to explain to Dan that Issac Mizrahi suggests if you start with beautiful underthings, you will begin to feel more beautiful and radiate confidence, etc. He rolled his eyes, clearly not understanding me. I stormed into our bedroom, yanked off the offending article of clothing, replaced it with my boring, same everyday brassiere and here I sit relating this tale.
This is precisely why I have such a hard time sticking with this sort of thing, this "making an effort." I just end up with a rash and a husband who thinks I'm one sandwich short of a picnic.