Bridal Bra Disaster – Sample Story #7
A pushup bra is like a bag of chips, you open it and it’s half empty.
-Author Unknown
With only two months remaining before my wedding, I had knocked nearly everything off my to-do list. Booking the reception hall, purchasing the dress, hiring a photographer, meeting demands from my mother-in-law — you know, the things one usually does in planning a wedding.
I needed to deal with a minor issue, though. My wedding dress was a fairly modest A-line, but it only had cap sleeves, and the back was slightly lower than the T-shirts I normally lived in. I needed a strapless bra for the first time in my life.
My mother and girlfriends warned me to buy at least two and wear each a few times before the big day to make sure they were comfortable. No one wants the biggest day of their lives to be dominated by undergarment discomfort. So, I picked out two at a department store,
I’d made plans to go to lunch after church on Sunday with two of my bridesmaids. This seemed like the perfect time to try out Bra Number One. So, during the service, I duly paid attention — both to the sermon and my new bra. Did it chafe my skin? Did it stay put? It behaved itself throughout the service.
After church, the pastor walked over to say hello to my friends and me. He was well-known to my family, so I invited him to join us for lunch at a café down the street. As the four of us exited the church, there was a snow flurry, so I lifted my arms to pull the hood of my coat over my head.
That was a big mistake. As I lifted my arms, the captives of Bra Number One leapt over the confining wall and were free, leaving the bra hanging precariously beneath them. As we walked down the steps and started our walk to the café, I could feel the bra starting to slacken its hold around my back,
I barely heard the conversation about my fiancé’s job or the upcoming wedding. Here I was, walking down a busy city street with my pastor, and my bra was trying to slide out the bottom of my shirt. I walked with my chest as puffed with air as possible and my arms clenched tightly to my sides, but it wasn’t working. Nothing was keeping this bra in place.
Having any wardrobe malfunction is embarrassing. Having a wardrobe malfunction that involves your underwear in a public place is mortifying. And having a public underwear wardrobe malfunction in front of the pastor of your church — there are no words. Would the bra drop all the way to the ground? Maybe I could step over it and pretend I hadn’t noticed. Or would it get stuck when it reached my rear end and hang there, peeking out of the bottom of my coat for all to see? Three doors from the café, I could feel the bra riding around my waist. Drops of sweat joined the bra on the downward slide it was taking. I wanted to run ahead of our group and make it to the café bathroom, but running would only make the bra drop faster. If this bra dropped another three inches, I was going to have to join a whole new denomination.
God must have really wanted me to keep going to the same church because I made it to the café just in time and locked myself in the bathroom to get redressed. At least, I think it was just in time. If anyone noticed that something was wrong, they still haven’t told me. My wedding was nine years ago, but I still think of that day two months earlier and cringe with re-lived embarrassment and anxiety.
Bra Number One was rejected as a contender for wedding-day attire, and I learned that strapless bras are best trialed on days when you can stay safely at home.