Back in the 70’s, a fashion consultant (whose name I totally forget) said that if you put a pencil under your breasts and it stays there, you shouldn’t go braless. I followed her instructions and then proudly slipped into my little halter top. I went out into the California sun and strutted my stuff, comfortable in the conviction that I was not committing a fashion faux pas with my unfettered boobies.
I have nothing against bralessness. If you have amazing tatas and want to show them off, be my guest. If your gigantic rack defies gravity, by all means, show the world what daddy bought you. But, if you fail the pencil test, you might want to consider wearing a bra to help keep your knockers from moving further south.
There are times, however, when a bra should not be considered optional equipment:
If you wear a belt to keep your pendulous titties from hitting you in the knees, you need a bra. If you can fit a 2-liter bottle of soda under each fun bag and they don’t fall out, you need a bra. If you can go jogging while those 2-liters are wedged under your mammouth gazongas, and they still stay put, for safety’s sake, you should wear a bra to make sure they don’t bounce up, hit you in the head, and knock you out cold.
And if, when crossing the street (as you did in front of me today), an observer (again, me) is led to wonder whether a pack of rabid opossums are fighting their way out of your blouse as your more than ample busom bounces, jiggles, and lurches ahead of you, please, for the sake of all that’s holy, protect us from that horror and put on a bra.
Once you round up the mammaries in your over the shoulder boulder holder, go one step further and tighten up the straps. They’re adjustable for a reason. Nips should not be pointing to the ground. Hoist those puppies back up to home base. Let your headlights lead the way in front of you. Your back will thank you. And so will I.
