Me and my bra

I sprang from bed and took a shower,
Fixed my hair just so.
Shoved my breasts into my bra,
And down the stairs I go.

I tugged and pulled at my bra
All day, what a bother.
Today's the day I've dreaded,
I'm meeting the bra fitter.

Such trepidation, such distain,
I've had for this appointment.
But alas, I could not put off
The need for such assistance.

All these years, not knowing,
Lacking the information,
Necessary for such an important
And supportive acquisition.

A bra that fits! A vision,
That has transformed my shopping sprees,
Into something more resembling
An ugly and nightmarish melee.

Is there a chance for my predicament?
I haven't quite lost hope.
But if the fitter has news not good,
I'll be at the end of my rope.

I may decide after all these years
To liberate them from their binding.
Not my wish, mind you. But of the
Choices, this seems the least confining.

Not only are my breasts bound
For endless woe and tribulation,
But my pocket book will suffer
If the fitter works her deception.

Tall tales she may tell
Of a bra worthy of adoration.
Fitting my odd body
Without expensive alterations?

Is such a thing possible?
Me thinks I hope too much.
A second mortgage I will take
To purchase such.

Why this torture? Why pursue
This unfulfilling avenue?
Shopping for a garment
So ill fitting and untrue!

Because, pain is life my friend.
That's what I've come to know.
A sad but true reality,
Comfort is' beauty's foe.