There are a lot of disadvantages to being a girl. Besides the hassle of bleeding out of my crotch every month, I can’t always go out in my favorite outfit - a shirt/tank top and a pair of shorts - unless I want to become a statistic. Whenever I attempt to leave the house at night with my legs showing, my parents make me march back up to my room and change into something more “decent”. I try to reason with them by explaining I wear shorts because they’re comfortable, and that my thunder thighs and peklat-ridden calves will deter any man from making a pass at me. They retort by saying, “Waling pinipili ang lalaking lasing.” So I guess even having horrible legs won’t keep me from becoming a rape victim. Fabulous.
But perhaps this single biggest disadvantage to being a girl is having breasts and making sure they receive proper support. No thanks to the ample boobage given to me by genetics, bra shopping is one of my least favorite activities in the world.
If somebody told me that the brassier was designed by a man, I wouldn’t be surprised. Most bras being sold today come with an underwire, which is supposed to enhance the cleavage and provide extra support. Only a man would design a bra that would make a woman’s cleavage pop out of her top at the expense of her comfort. I’ve tried underwire bras before and the only support my boobs get from them was not so much support as a painful pinching sensation. Ever since then, I’ve made it a point to buy only wireless bras. Unfortunately, finding a bra without under wire takes forever, and wireless bras with matching panties are nonexistent.
Underneath all my clothes lies a fashion victim whose sole crime is mismatched lingerie.
While waiting for my dad to finish doing the groceries today, my mom handed me a bunch of gift checks and told me to grab her some underwear and to get myself bras. I walked to the department store’s lingerie section, determined to find a matching bra and panty set and look stylish with clothes and without clothes. Which is not to say that anyone will be seeing me in my underthings anytime soon. I just feel strangely safe with the knowledge that I’m wearing nice underwear that goes with my bra.
At the department store, I found myself growing increasingly cranky as I inspected all the printed, patterned, and lacy bras and discovered that all of them came with the accursed underwire. I did see this wireless, whore-red bra that was three sizes too large for me. It didn’t have a matching panty.
After getting my mom’s underwear and walking around the lingerie section twice, I gave up on looking for a cute bra and panty set and decided to settle for a plain, boring bra with no wire. I thought I lucked out when I found a wireless Wacoal bra with removable straps. The moment the bra cupped my boobies in the privacy of the dressing room, I fell in love. It was a perfect fit! No matter how much I jumped and wiggled, the bra didn’t slide down my chest when I removed the straps. So if you’ve always thought that strapless bras require underwire to hold your boobs in place - I tell you now that that isn’t true.
As soon as I was done fitting, I made a mad dash to the nearest cashier. The department store was holding a sale and the lines resembled spirals that seemed to go on forever. In my rush to pay for my stuff and get the hell out of there, I only remembered to check the price tag while I already in line. My heart nearly stopped when I saw that the Wacoal bra cost 985 ouchies. The gift certificates from my mom weren’t enough, and it was too late for me to go back and try on something else. And so I ended up paying the full amount for the bra.
I hate being a girl.
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