Getting Sporty

In a man’s world

I have just saved my sister-in-law from bra entrapment. 

Again. 

I got to explain.

Nobody with a Dolly Parton bosom like Gloriosa has should ever try wearing one of them stretchy “sports bras” that you got to pull on over your head. It’s begging for trouble.

But no-o-o, everybody at the fancy gym she works out at talks about sports bras, how comfortable they are, how flattering, blah, blah, blah…

So she tries one. And she gets stuck putting it on. You’d think she learned a lesson, but nooo, she tries another brand. And it traps her again, one boob here, one boob there, one arm over her head, one somewhere else. 

Luckily, I happened to be on my way over to her house. We are going to sit down together and figure out who in the family is bringing what for Thanksgiving.

I am just a few minutes away at that coffee shop on Oak Street, picking us up some fancy coffee, when I get her message.

It so happens my phone reads text messages out loud – I ain’t figured out how to change the settings. So everybody behind me in line hears “Modine, where are you? Are you close? I’m stuck in my braaaa!” 

Lord knows how she typed that with one arm over her head. I grab the coffees and start for the door. 

Now, this ain’t the first time my phone has read out a personal message in a public place. It does it all the time. My two brothers-in-law, Leech and Lurch, think it’s hilarious, and they text me stupid messages whenever they think of it. “Hey Modine,” my phone will say out of nowhere, “you ever find a cure for them warts?” or “Modine, you still got them porn tapes?” I don’t got warts or porn tapes, but you get the idea. 

I am almost out the door when Leech texts, “Don’t forget to buy some super strong deodorant, Modine!”

By the time I get to Gloriosa’s, she is so tangled up in this new bra, I got to find the scissors and cut the back. 

I tell her the honest truth. I say, “Gloriosa, I don’t care what they say at the gym. If you ever got on a treadmill wearing this thing, you would probably get knocked out by one of your own own boobs.”

“You are lethalizing your bosom,” I tell her. 

Now, me, I am at the other end of the bosom spectrum. I could use two rubber bands for a sports bra and it would work. 

Gloriosa could point that out, but she is too grateful for being rescued. Instead, she just says, “It’s a man’s world, Modine.”

I agree. My gentleman friend Lust acts like a early Christian martyr when he has to put on a neck tie.

Anyway, we settle the Thanksgiving plans, and I go home to cook the pot of red beans I got soaking.

“You need some Odor Eaters for your shoes, Modine,” Lurch texts, while I stir the beans. 

 I ignore that and turn on the TV on in the kitchen while I cook. 

I happen to see an ad for men’s drawers. And would you believe – it starts talking about – um – separate pouches in the crotch to “lift and separate” their privates. I am astounded. I have been running men’s drawers through the wash for years and I ain’t never seen such a thing. 

Now if was a ladies’ bra ad, it would say “Lift up and supports to achieve the desired perkiness, roundness and cleavage.” Naturally, this commercial don’t say anything like that. But still…

I text both Lurch and Leech “Do your under-drawers lift and separate?”

And then, because I can’t stop myself, I text, “Do they help you achieve the desired perkiness and roundness?” I can’t bring myself to add “and cleavage.”

Now, I live in an apartment that is behind my gentleman friend Lust’s bar, The Sloth Lounge. 

A few minutes later, Lust appears in my kitchen, all smiles. “Your brothers-in-law are in the bar saying you are sending them embarrassing texts.” 

Maybe this man’s world is changing for the better.  

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