If you hear me whine, just walk on by

Sing to tune of Dionne Warwick's "Walk on By:"
If you see me walking down the street
And you hear me whine each time we meet,
“My bra’s too tight! My bra’s too tight!”
Make believe you don't see the tears, just let me breathe.....

I should buy a new one, I know, but they have to be special ordered from a tarp and tent outfit.

I keep thinking I’m on this big diet, so pretty soon I should be noticing a difference in the fit. I mean, the boobs are the first to go, right? So far, though, the four pounds I’ve lost have come from someplace else – probably my neck, the only body part that actually looks good because the wrinkles are filled out.

Working from home, my dress code barely includes panties, so of course I skip the bra completely. My dogs have come to recognize me even without my boobs entering the room a couple seconds before I do. Now they compete for lap space, though.

Don’t go assuming I’ve thrown propriety out altogether. I haven’t become one of those emancipated middle-aged women who refuse to wear a bra, even in public. (Sometimes you wonder why they bother with a belt buckle if no one’s going to see it, don’t you?) No, I keep a bra slung over the front door knob so I can jump into it if the door bells rings or I have to run to the store. No sense in shocking people with nipples on my hips.

Until I lose at least 10 pounds, don’t be surprised if you catch me with an unguarded grimace of pain. Just avert your eyes and walk away slowly. The girls are struggling to get out of the elastic-and-lace torture device and it’s all I can do to keep from flinging it off right in the middle of the produce section.