This is the eighteenth in my 30 in 30 by 30 series, wherein I undertake 30 adventures in 30 days before I turn 30 years old on Aug. 6.
Thursday, I totally burned this mother down...
Ta ta, ta-ta container!
This is a bra that I've owned for approx. 928 years. It SUCKS.
One day last month, I found myself in a bad mood at work. I grumble unbecomingly in my cube. I frowned in meetings. I couldn't write copy to save my life.
Then it dawned on me: I was being slowly tortured into an irritable frenzy by the heinous and hurtful undergarment encircling my upper half. After work, I went directly to a fine purveyor of brassieres and bought a replacement.
But what to do with the remaining evil underwire?
Set it on fire, of course.
Come on baby, light my brassiere.
underpinnings a flambé
Besides making a spectacle of myself by dragging an ancient (and may I add, depressing) hooter holder around Alms Park, this was a fantastically fun and liberating experience.
Though, that may just be the fumes from fried polyester talking.
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