Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Strap Perfect is a two-man job.
I tried unsuccessfully to put the strap perfect on by myself several times before I gave in, unpretzled my arms and humbly requested assistance. The problem is: I'm not double-jointed. Or a contortionist.
And let's face it: you don't want to walk around looking like white trash with your straps all hangin' out. And if you're an ample-busomed lady such as myself, you can't go commando. Maybe back in my skinny days, but certainly not now.
Thankfully, K is very helpful when it comes to the SP. He's also good at tucking the boob pads back into my bathing suits when they come out in the wash. Coincidence? I think not.
So we've negotiated a Strap Perfect Assistance contract through racerback season, and hopefully I won't need to pop and lock my way through dressing myself each morning.