The makers of bras are shepherds of the devil. There is no other way to describe them. Part of my nightly routine:
"Mama, can you unfasten my bra?" (Because I'm sitting at the computer and don't want to take off my shirt yet).
She patiently unhooks it. She surveys the permanent bruises on my shoulders and back and rubs them a little bit.
"Mama, can you scratch my side?"*
As she scratches very gently, she explains to me why she won't dig in like I want her to. The itching is from the bra irritating me and she doesn't want to make the red areas worse.
I agree, wait for her to go in her room, and attack my itchy skin with the stiff-bristled hairbrush I keep just for this purpose.
I am simultaneously tired of bras and unable to go without them. I have been fitted and am confident I am wearing the correct size--they fit comfortably in the morning.
But after all day, Lord!
I had a nurse tell me once to put a little vaseline on under my breasts and on my sides and shoulders, but then my bras were all stained.
Am I really going to have to go the rest of my life (if I don't have a reduction) hurting and itching at the end of each day?
*I'm a nailbiter and stopped wearing fake nails this past spring because I'd been wearing them for a few years and my mother kept making dire predictions about the state of my real nails. I will not be walking around all hang-nailed and chewed-to-the-quick in the fall, though. Sorry, Mama!