From Emma in Barcelona: No.

You know that word association game when one person says a word and the other person says the first word that comes to mind?

Bra

What was your word?

I'm not playing with myself, but I'm pretty sure my word would be, "No." And that's not just my id talking. That includes my ego and superego.

Shortly after weaseling my way into my first brassiere, a hand me down that was too big, I began to shun them.

Because, not to be dramatic about it, but bras slowly suck out my soul through my breasts, expire it through the polluted air of the city and cram it back into my body through hooks, straps, elastic and clasps. They are also expensive.

I once took off a red sports bra during a middle school softball practice because the underwire was making it impossible for me to concentrate on fielding balls.

My hyper sensory issues and total lack of athletic ability aside, why the hell was I wearing a bra with a goddamn underwire!? I don't remember if a teammate hung it on the wall of the dugout in an attempt to embarrass me (lol), but I do remember the feeling of the breeze going in one arm hole, igniting the line of sweat under my tiny boobs and going out the other. It felt like freedom. Like the freedom of not giving a single shitty shit that Emma's Secret was smacking against chain link for all to see.

And I've kept that feeling with me.

Every rare time I have worn a bra in my adulthood, it has been for someone else. It has been so you wouldn't have to see my nipples through the sheerness of my top or because you (students) have no self control and are turned on by the natural movement and pointy shape of my breasts.

I take that back. I have a wool sweater that chafes my boob hats (Parks and Rec reference), and that hurts me, so that is definitely for myself. But no other time! The rest of the times are for you!

And I will never wear one so that you will not be grossed out. Not important to me. Not important at all.

You is not actually you. You are cool. But you know who is not cool? The shop owner who asked me how old I was, and after hearing the answer, said well then I'd better start wearing a bra.

In her defense, I think she thought that I should be concerned about sagging. Truth time. I'm not.

I realize that a lot of women feel more comfortable wearing a bra because they have large chests, gravity is winning the good fight or for lots of other reasons. This post isn't to convince anyone that they shouldn't wear a bra.

This post is to convince everyone that I have a great rack.

I forced Jaime to impartially feel them last night, and though he did not agree they were the breasts of a fifteen-year-old (in retrospect, I should not have used those words because it made him uncomfortable), he did agree that they were, in fact, very perky and dense.

I understand that I've never had my glands filled with milk, I'm a solid member of the B team, and even though I tell people I'm 30, I'm not yet. Don't hate on me for using this to my advantage.

I'm going to ride this train as far as it carries me (and maybe even way past my stop) because no one gets hurt and I feel awesome when I'm not wearing a bra and significantly less awesome when I am. Why would anyone have to explain anything beyond that?