ANITA BREASTWORTHY’S BRA

A silly tale. What do you expect on Boxing Day?

Anita Breastworthy, history teacher and general tartar, had a new bra.

Now that wouldn’t have been worthy of note had that been all it was, but it was a huge bra.

She ordered it on-line after a few Christmas drinks in the company of her cat, and got her measurements mixed up, and whereas she was thinking in inches the advertisement clearly described the garment in millimetres. So when her cheque and order arrived at the Brassiere and Allied Technologies offices it was examined with a great deal of amusement.

“Why, she must have a large chest,” commented the Managing Director.

“Big bazookas, you mean,” grinned the chief somebody in charge of structural technology.

“Gigantic tits,” observed the tea boy.

And that august and renowned company set about manufacturing a bra to satisfy the measurements on Anita Breastworthy’s order. But something got in the way of the statistics and what had started off as inches in the interpretation of the Chief Designer at Brassiere and Allied Technologies works became feet, and so vast orders of pretty pink fabric had to be sent out.

All the components that have evolved over generations of head-scratching and design to make the bra a singularly comfortable garment had to be reinforced, and the reinforcements further reinforced to stop unwanted saggage. In the end, and after a considerable amount of stitching involving reels of twine (ordinary cotton thread not deemed to be strong enough), the garment was completed and parcelled up.

It took the full capacity of one delivery van to contain that single parcel, as well as a driver and his mate.

They arrived at Anita Breastworthy’s humble historic cottage and left it on the doorstep because it looked as if she might be out and anyway instructions regarding delivery during a pandemic suggested that might be the wisest thing to do. Anyway, a storm seemed to be brewing by the look of the skies and they didn’t fancy being stuck in it.

So when Anita Breastworthy arrived home she discovered a huge parcel waiting for her.

“This is mighty odd,” she mused, “it seems to be from the bra people, but I only ordered one, not a few dozen”, and she struggled to take the parcel into her front room and start undoing the string that bound it together.

Outside, a wind proclaiming the imminent arrival of a storm started blowing and the sound of it spurred her on until in a moment of impatience she cut the string.

It was a well-made garment and it sprang out once its tethering was removed. Two gigantic cups reached from floor to ceiling. The underwiring ensured perfect uniformity and the lacy bits (she had specified pretty lacy bits in her original order) fluttered in an unseemly erotic way.

“Goodness me,” she murmured, “what have we here?”

It was obvious what she had there. It was a gigantic undergarment in the prettiest pink and with lacy bits that made her heart leap uncomfortably inside her chest when she looked at them. After all, she was all-woman.

The storm outside chose that moment to start raging in its full majesty. It had been born somewhere in the southern oceans and gathered strength and glory as it battered lands half way round the Earth to where Anita lived, in Brumpton, in England.

The winds found her chimney, no longer in practical smoke-related use since she’d had central heating installed, but it was still there and invited the battering winds to howl down it, which they did.

And as in a sort of grateful salutation those same winds blew her front door in. They howled through the house, down the chimney, through the front door, and they grabbed hold of Anita Breastworthy’s new bra and inflated its cups.

You can probably imagine what happened next. Lift was involved. You must be aware that the main function of a bra is to be uplifting, and this gigantic monstrosity certainly was that, It lifted Anita Breastworthy (who was holding on to a nice lacy strap in pink) and dragged her to the front door, and out of it. Then it lifted her high into the sky.

She screamed, of course she did, but it was one hell of a storm, and the very last sighting of Anita Breastworthy was her clinging for all her life to a bra strap that could take the strain, and somehow (don’t ask me how) tumbling arse over tit as she rose majestically into the skies and eventually above the raging clouds over Brumpton.

The sad part of this story is she was never seen again, which pleased the kids in Year ten at Brumpton School, where she taught them history.

© Peter Rogerson 26.12.20