Updated 9/27/11 3:30PM – Thanks for sharing your bra adventures! We’ve picked two lucky winners, Bridget and Victoria!
An American woman was airlifted from a Germany mountainside after sending an SOS signal with her bra. That’s quite a bra adventure if you ask us. If you have a bra adventure of your own we’d love to hear about it! Post your story below by 9/25/11. We’ll pick our favorite story on 9/27/11 and will send the writer a free bra.
Speaking of bra adventures, don’t forget to check out our Big Adventure Bra Sale* where you can save up to 20% on select bras.
*Sale ends Sunday, September 25, 2011.
I the 1980s I was a park ranger in North Cascades National Park. I was assigned to fight one of the many grass fires ignited by lightning on the steep slopes alongside Lake Chelan. To get to this fire the boat ranger drove us down lake a bit, and we climbed the steep, glacier-carved mountain side, wearing the heavy firepacks. Phil, Sammy and I finally reached the fire. While the fire was small and not very intense, it was quite smoky. Failing to bring my bandanna, I was choking. My kingdom for a facemask! Oh, I fantasized, how nice it would be to have a mask cupping my nose and mouth. Cupping! Cup! as in bra! As it turned out, my bra made a very effective, though goofy, face mask. After several hours of sweltering under the intense sun digging, of the fire line, Phil and I left Sammy to babysit the fire while we returned to the lake to await the boat ride back. Skinny dipping never ever feels better than after a fighting a forest fire.
So we all have our first bra memory, right? Well, not me necessarily; however, I do remember my first sport’s bra because I couldn’t let it go until about two years ago. I’m thirty-two years old. Yes, this is true. My mom knew this and figured a way for me to get rid of it. We had gone bra shopping many times together. This time, she asked if I wanted to go bra shopping with her at the Dillard’s shopping mall store and mentioned that they did special fittings, like the hometown store for which my sisters had experienced. She sold me of their experience. I was reminded that most women usually discover their true bra size and come to know they have been wearing a bra fitted wrongly their whole lives. Well, knowing that my sisters had a successful experience, I knew I could do it and committed.
My mom told me to bring my oldest bra. I obeyed with my usual daughter-like response, “Okay!” In her wisdom and knowing me so well, my mom knew I still wouldn’t give up the grey thin piece of material worn since seventh grade track try-outs. It matched so well with our track team uniform. The shorts, exact color and almost material as my bra, made for the perfect background color that enhanced the purple mascot of the Knight at the lower edge of the hem. The stylish match of the white silky tank under the team’s purple cotton tank, which read in yellow-gold print, ‘North Ogden Knights,’ made me feel more confident to compete than any of the junior high wanna-be clothes I desired. She kindly mentioned for me to bring that one.
When arriving upon the lingerie department of this classy store, I realized once again the excitement of having a new bra to wear. I didn’t quite understand my uninvited feelings of nervousness until we had tried on several of our favorites and was told by the store associate that she wanted to see us wearing our old bras. I thought I had passed this stage of embarrassment. Then, I knew. I knew that what I had held onto for all those years was a sign of my immaturity for what I lacked in size and womanhood. Oh, the look on the associate’s face after looking at my mother’s truly worn-out bra to my golden treasure was history. I instantly was grateful to the kind JC Penney lady, who had helped me discover so many of my first bras. My confident heir soon diminished to a sudden stroke of flat reality, realizing that I knew nothing of what I had taken for granted.
The new bras we left with that evening were a step above the ones we had worn, which made for another successful lingerie visit. Yes, I will always remember that ol’ grey bra lying in the small garbage can in my bedroom, but most of all–it’s limp look as the big reminder for me to move forward in pursuit of an active lifestyle. That’s my bra story, and I’m so glad that others had bra stories to share too. They were a riot for me to read and helped me make the wise decision to confess. Good luck to all of you ladies in your success in feeling comfortable and secure! Best wishes!
Sincerely, the bra finder. 🙂
Six years ago, I was living a career-changer’s dream of leaving office life for a true vocation, working with animals. I had landed a summer internship at the ape house at the local zoo, where I quickly became acquainted both with the animals and their prodigious amounts of poop. The work was hard, and I loved every minute. I was especially glad for the wide bands and wicking material of my sports bras. There’s nothing like manual labor and a need to shower IN YOUR BRA before leaving work to make good underwear important.
One day in July, before the ape house opened, I was washing the inside of an exhibit window. As I headed back to the building, I could see that something had gone horribly wrong: all the keeper doors were shut. Then I saw that the gorillas had been let up into the exhibit. When the silverback came at me, I ran for it, but not before he’d barreled his 450 pounds on top of me and bit me on my side. He let me go, and eventually he was persuaded by some other keepers to return to the building.
At the hospital, the doctors found the punctures from all four of his canines, but the two that went through my bra band barely penetrated my skin, while the other two teeth got through my shirt, skin, and more than an inch into my body. Thanks to a strong bra, I wasn’t as badly injured as I might have been, and was able to come back to work two weeks later. (The silverback and I remain friends, but we keep to the right sides of the glass at all times.)
I’m glad Victoria’s bra helped her. That story wasn’t a fun one. I wonder if she can look back at the experience without fear. Most people with animal trauma stories have difficulty.
I was gardening in my front yard flower bed on my hands and knees. I was wearing my old, worn out T-shirt with my sports bra underneath (Triple Threat 34DDD). Suddenly, a huge bumble bee buzzed down into my T-shirt. I instantly levitated, threw up the gardening implement in my hands and ripped of the shirt. There I was… standing in my front yard with my sports bra! (Culturally appropriate to be seen with a sports bra, but I usually keeps “the girls” under wrap unless it is a special occasion.)
Now that the bee had gone his merry way, I could not find the the cultivator that I had thrown up in the air.
One week later, my neighbor, Dave, came over and asked if the cultivator he had found by his front door was mine. When I answered “Yes, I’ve been looking all over for it”, he inquired why it was on his property at all. Of course, I told him about the infamous bumble bee and the ripping my shirt off. His reply – “Why do I miss all the good stuff around this place!”