Bra Envy Leads to Breast Envy

When I was ten, I had the worst case of Bra Envy. That's the precursor to Breast Envy. It ate me up. I don't know if all little girls go through Bra Envy or just us late bloomers, but I remember it very clearly.

When I was in fifth grade I thought all of my friends were starting to develop and it drove me crazy. There they all were. All wearing bras. Messing with their bra straps. Having to adjust themselves. I was going mad with jealously! I begged my mom to buy me a bra. But for what? What would a bra possibly be holding in? I was lucky I had fat enough on my body to keep me warm, let alone try form boobies. So I thought I was real smart. I thought that if I just stood up real straight and stuck my little chest out, it would look like I was getting bigger on top. It didn't stop there. I would wear an undershirt or something under my clothes. You know, to give the appearance of bra straps. I didn't care if they were big and bulky. And I would fiddle with an imaginary strap in the middle of my back, just like all my real bra wearing friends did. It worked until a boy in class went to snap my bra and discovered there was nothing there. I was mortified. So I did the next best thing. I hiked my underwear up as high as it could go. Until it almost reached the middle of my back if I arched my spine. This was a long time time ago. All we kids had back then were Granny Panties. Then I would fiddle with my undies as if they were my bra strap. I was desperate.

Don't judge me.

I don't think I got my first training bra until the end of fifth grade. And I never actually needed a bra until maybe seventh grade. I'll even let you in on a little secret. I wore the Wonder Bra when I got married because I wanted a little something on top. Do you remember those? Of course you do. Now I have the best in Victoria's Secret bras, but I want better boobs. I had kids. Enough said. Bra Envy leads to Breast Envy.

So, what do I tell my ten year old daughter? In her mind's eye, all her little friends are starting to wear bras and little undershirts because, let's face it, they need them. My daughter, my precious little girl, does not. She is built like I was at ten years old. Scrawny. But lucky for her, she has me to help guide her through this sensitive time. I went out and bought her the damn bra.