Category: satire

*Disclaimer: this post is about bewbs. Most specifically nipples. Yup, I just came right out and said it. If you think you’re not ready for this level of honesty, maybe pass on this one. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 
I must be the only woman left on this planet who didn’t know that sports bras, minus added padding, is a recipe for disaster. In case you are also a nimrod and didn’t know this fascinating fact, don’t do it. That is, unless you are at home or for some strange reason you are missing your nipples.
Let me reiterate, don’t wear an un-padded sports bra in public. DON’T DO IT.
Learn from me, ladies.
Last week, it was necessary to wear a sports bra to work. We were having a fun-filled day of being outside. In the sun and 90-degree weather. All day. My most favorite part of this special day is being hot, sweaty, and stinky all.day. 
So, I decided my only decent bra didn’t deserve swamp boob level grossness. Thus, my decision to wear my deceiving, bitch of a sports bra. 
So, there I was thinking I was being extra smart because I was going to be extra comfy all day. Also, my sports bras tend to reign in my back boobs a bit more than a regular bra, with a regular back strap. So, there’s that. 
After spending a good 20 minutes outside where it was still a little chilly in the morning air, after speaking to at least half of the staff and teachers at my school, after smiling like a fucking idiot at everyone I saw, I looked in the mirror. 
To my absolute horror, my headlights were standing at full mast, front and center. 
OMG. I COULDN’T EVEN. 
It looked like I had taped stale, hard mini marshmallows to the front of my bra. Why anyone would ever want to do that is beyond me, but that’s what it fucking looked like.
Why body? Why? 
How do you undo something that’s already been done? How do you make someone unsee something they’ve already seen? 
Um, you don’t, jackass. 
What the fuck am I gonna do? I can’t run home, I’ll never get back in time. What am I gonna do???!
My Mod Mate suggested tissue, but I was not buying it. Under the thin material of my bastard bra, tissue would look lumpy. People would think I had unsuccessfully tried to pad my bra. Um, no. 
Then, I was struck with pure genius! I would cover my extra stubborn unmentionables with Post It notes! Pure genius, I tell you. Genius. 
The denser consistency of the paper would surely keep those bad boys in place. Also, the sticky strip would ensure the Post It stayed were it needed to. Win.
My Mod Mate was unconvinced, but I was undeterred. 
After successfully covering the last Captain Crunch Berry* (that kind of makes it sound like I have myriad berries. I assure you, I do not), I inspected my job in the mirror in the bathroom. 
I thought it looked fine. I really did. Because I had to show my Mod Mate what a fine job I did with the Post Its, I went next door to show her I was probably going to have to patent my idea. 
“Well, what do you think? You can’t see those two beacons of embarrassment anymore, right?”
Her response: 
“OMG. No. No. No. Girl, you don’t have two nips anymore! No.”
I answered: 
“Well, duh. That was that point. No more inappropriate nippage. No?”
She then said:
“No.”
I was at a loss. What could possibly be wrong with my Post It note nipple covers? They were genius. 
She clarified: 
“Well, for starters, you now you have eight nipples. Is that what you were going for? If so? Well done.”
The four corners of the Post It notes made weird octi-nipples under my sports bra. So, instead of two innocent, albeit, unpredictable doo-das, I had something going on that was straight out of the personal fetish collection of some freak. 
Nope. 
The Post It notes came out, and tissue was put in their place, and all was well. 
I should probably listen to my friend and colleague a lot more. She’s pretty old and worldly like that. 
In ending, ladies, never fashion nipple covers using Post It notes or other office supplies. Further, if this is ever a necessity, it’s time to buy a padded sports bra (preferably not one from the $1 bin at Walgreens). 
This post is dedicated to my Mod Mate, the Oscar to my Felix, and the best damn colleague and friend I’ve ever been lucky enough to share a year-long “camping” adventure with. I’ll miss your random pop ins, how we could communicate with a single eyebrow raise, and the way you always “got” me. I love you. Enjoy your new school, ya bitch. 
*Oscar coined this phrase to name a friend’s nips, and it was pure hilarity. I had to sneak it in.