A Letter From the Contents of My Bra Drawer


Dear Elizabeth,

We wanted to check in. Is everything OK? It’s been a few weeks, and we’re getting worried.

The last time we saw you was a Monday. You’d showered — a vanishingly rare event these days — and put on pants with a button. Then, on top, you opted for your least supportive sports bra; it’s basically (no offense) a piece of elastic with straps. That flimsy undergarment later informed us that you only put it on to go down to your building’s lobby to check your mailbox. The bra didn’t even leave the building. But it did bound down six flights of stairs with you, rather than gliding to the first floor in the elevator. We can tell you from experience that you picked the wrong bra for all that downhill walking.

Anyway, that must have been four, five, maybe even six weeks ago now. We’ve lost count. What’s going on? Have you given up on wearing bras completely?

We want you to know that we’ve always existed to support you, no matter what the circumstances may be. Remember how we were there for you when you gave the eulogy at your mother’s funeral? Have you forgotten about the time we kept you going through your first and only 10K with minimal flopping? What about all those Sundays spent running errands and cooking, then hitting the couch and watching documentaries about obscure cults? Did that all mean nothing to you?

Look, we know we’re not your favorite garment. You made that abundantly clear each time you unhooked us and threw us on the floor the minute you got home from work. But honestly, we miss you. We miss the smell of your deodorant and getting to feel the fresh air when our straps have the opportunity to peek out from under your shirt — even if only for a few minutes. A bra is only as good as the last time it propped up a bosom. For us, that last time is a distant memory.

So, we’re begging you: Let us out. At this point we’d settle for being gently washed in your bathroom sink and hung on your shower curtain rod to dry. (We know that we’ve complained about drying near that disgusting shower pouf in the past, but we’re willing to overlook that now.) Use us as a slingshot to toss your used tissues in the garbage can. Pack us in your suitcase for your next trip.

Our fear is that we’re going to end up collecting dust in the back of our drawer like that corset you bought a few years ago when you were a bridesmaid in a wedding. Just know that whenever you’re ready for us, we’re here, retaining our elasticity.



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