You want fireworks?

I got yer freakin’ fireworks right heya baby. They’re the 2008 limited edition 36DDD ball-busters and they just were just released last night.

Here’s the thing. I know I squish my girls into way-too-small bras, but since having and nursing babies, they’ve sort of become out of control and I’ll do just about anything to subdue their presence. Getting the post-partum bits and bobs into my delicate under-things has become what some might call an Olympic Event. A Chicken Dance with an Elaine thrown in for leverage. A hop-on-one-foot and squat until all parts are sufficiently stifled into the lacy, cotton shackles otherwise known as bras and undies. An exercise in complete and utter futility.

Because sooner or later: KABOOM.

The Husband all but ripped my shirt off last night and forced me to stand straight with my arms at my side. He’d successfully googled “how to measure a bust” and had pilfered the measuring tape from my sewing basket, slinking towards me with an evil glint in his big browns. He’s been on my case for years a while now to get measured. I normally flat-out refuse him or pretend like I don’t hear and mention something about tacos and cheesecake. Honestly, I know they’re colossal but do I really have to face the stuttering DDD’s that would like to take up residence on the tag? No, I wouldn’t.

I like to pretend that all my current under-drawers fit just fine…and the bulging muffin tops you see under my armpits are just gas bubbles. Too much broccoli for lunch. And never-you-mind the red welts on my shoulders and back, I forgot my sun block today.

I had no other choice but to face facts as the smirk started in the left corner of his mouth and spread to his entire face as my eyeballs rolled out of my head.

So now Mama’s got a brand new bag bra that actually fits. Happy Independence Day girls – hope you enjoy your newly found freedom.