My bra straps slip down off of my right shoulder and I’ve always blamed it on the bra. “Darn cheap bra,” I’d grumble,then go out and buy an expensive one — or more than likely another cheap-ish (but not cheap-o) bra and within, oh, say, 48 hours, the whole process would repeat itself. But we all know how danged much fun bra-buying is, now don’t we girls, so I exchanged the frustration and exhaustion of trying on multiple bras for ill-fitting ones. Trying on bras, for those who do not know, is like getting your eyes examined:
Q: How’s this one compared to the last one? Better? Worse? The same?
A: Um . .
Q: Better? Worse? The same?
A: Could we go back and try the first one?
Q: Sure. (Moment passes for click of lenses OR changing of bra, which ever is appropriate) Better? Worse? The Same?
A: I’m . . . I’m not sure [Thinks: I need some kind of palate cleanser!]
In the end, you get something that’s better than nothing. At best, it’s sorta ok.
So the bra thing finally clicked at my last lesson when my teacher told me that I collapse to the right when I ride (She’s told me at least twice before but it takes me about 3 times to hear something). It also made sense when I was trotting down alongside the wall atop Sadie and looking straight at Leah, then noticed I was indeed listing to starboard as I looked at her.
Listing to starboard (that’s the right side), bras slipping off the right shoulder . . . just coincidence? I think not.