Oh Crap! I'm stuck in my bra!

(This is the damn contraption that nearly ended my life today! They should put a warning label on these! It should read: Only attempt to remove if you are a contortionist or if you have assistance! It should have an emergency zip cord that you can pull in case of an emergency and you get suck it in!)

So, I recently bought a new jogging bra. The elastic in my old jogging bras was starting to get weak causing my droopy, banana boobs to bounce up and down and flap in the wind, like a dog running with long, floppy ears. And, well, after 11 miles of that, my banana boobs were a bit sore.

So, this morning I took out my new bra on it's maiden voyage. I ran a quick 4 miles on the track. We did intervals of 4 minutes fast and 2 minutes recovery. Whatever! So, I ran great considering I ran 11 miles on Sunday. No problems, and the bra worked well.

But, when I came home this morning at 6:15 AM, I needed to take a shower. Even though it was only 30 degrees Fahrenheit and my car was covered in ice, I was still sweating like a fat man eating pizza with tons of Jalapenos. So, I hopped into the restroom and stripped off my tights, long sleeved running shirt, and running jacket (I don't wear underwear when I run...that's just one more thing to cause chafing!). I tried to pull my new running bra over my shoulders and head, but it was wet and tight. I tried again and again. I could get it over my boobs, but it kept getting stuck on my shoulders. I finally managed to wiggle one arm free, and then I was stuck again- really stuck! I called for Husband, but he decided to vacuum this morning since YaYa and PoPo will be here in less than 36 hours, and he didn't hear my calls. And, Jude was asleep on my bed. I called Jude's name in hopes that he would get his father. Instead, he opened one eye. He saw me in the restroom stuck in my bra with one arm out and one arm in, and then he laughed. I begged him to get his dad, but he just kept saying, "I can't hear you, I can't hear you!"

So, I wiggled, squirmed, pulled, tugged, sashayed, and shimmied to get the damn bra off. After about 5 minute of acting like a contortionist, I finally freed myself from the soaking wet sports bra AKA the jaws of death. I felt relieved and exhausted after the bra came off. And, I was disappointed that my sweet son refused to help me. I should warn him that he might be getting a lump of coal from Santa this year since he didn't help his loving, sweet mother in her time of need!

So, my lesson for today is: only wear THAT jogging bra/jaws of death when Husband is home and able to assist with it's removal!

Just another day in Weenie's World!