Part of the class requirement was to partner up and measure each other to make hand-made patterns. This ended up a minor embarrassment for me, as I was the only braless one in the room. Since bras are expensive, I dropped out of the class. I still wonder what my partner did and whether she still holds it against me.
I was tenaciously bra-resistant until a few years later, when I landed a job with the Federal Government. Suddenly, I had supervisors looking down my shirt. Even if I wore jeans and a tee shirt (and I wore plenty, having a wardrobe of over 30), I ran the risk of some pervert looking through my jersey. Under advisement of a Higher Up, it was time to invest in some upper support, even if the so-called support was not much more than a band-aid.
Somewhere after that, I went bra-crazy. I went push-up. I went lace. I went colors of the rainbow. I went to Victoria's Secret, where I could get coordinating panties and lots of bustiers. I spent so much at Vicki's Panty Shack that I would have hundreds of dollars in rewards certificates at the end of each year.
Then came maternity bras and nursing bras and suddenly I had a bosom to beat all bosoms. There is an upside to breast-feeding, ladies.
I suppose I could get front-closing bras, but why waste the money?
Now, of course, I am old. The kids are in their twenties and there is no way I'll be birthing any more babies. These days I am built for comfort, not for speed. My bones are brittle and my tendons can't take it anymore. And what's most important, I no longer care what I look like.
I'm definitely skidding into my grave sideways.