What is it and how did it get THERE?

 

WARNING!  This post contains graphic references to the female anatomy and foundation garments. DO NOT continue readings if you are under the age of 16, easily offended, or, you know, a dude. 

Okay, girls, let's talk.  You know how sometimes your upstairs foundation garments irritate the tender skin on your delicate bosoms?  You know how we, as the female of the species, shop around for a bra that won't irritate, and, since there is no such animal, we just sort of settle for the bra of least annoyance and go through life with our boob skin being just a little irritated ALL THE TIME?

Oh don't make that face.  I'm not the only one who puts up with this. If I were, memes like the one below wouldn't exist:

Anyway, so a couple of days ago, I put on my favorite bra, and by that I mean the one where the straps don't slide down my shoulders every five minutes, forcing me to reach inside my shirt and adjust, which makes me look like some kind of monkey.  Now, I'll be honest, I pick out my clothes the night before and pile them on top of the cabinet in the bathroom. I used to leave them on the floor in the bathroom, but then the next morning they'd be all over the house because one of our cats lives with the strong belief that our clothing, especially the underwear, needs to be visible in all parts of the house.

What I'm saying is, I pick out the clothes the night before because in the morning I tend to stagger around like something out of a George Romero film and making an important decision like "what am I going to wear" is way too difficult.  Also, when I pick out clothes to wear for the next day, I simply grab a top and pants from my closet and (and this key) underwear from my drawer. I don't inspect my clothing.  Tuck that in your memory bank for later.

So now it's morning.  I get up, weigh myself, because that's what I do every single morning. As if some fat fairy stopped by in the middle of the night and trimmed 70 pounds off my butt and gut.  I brush my teeth, wash my face, feel around for any whiskers because, as you know, those must be dealt with.  Then I get dressed. I remove the clothing from the top of the cabinet and then put the clothing on myself. Again, I do not examine the clothes.

I go through my day, and honestly I don't remember if I was working in the office that day or not. Doesn't matter. I, an adult, went through a day doing things. And yes, my upstairs foundation garment was irritating my bosoms. as it generally does. At this point in my life, I just give the girls a good scratch and move on.  It works, it doesn't work, all I know is that I have to deal with the irritation until 5Pm or whenever it's socially acceptable to remove the bra through my shirtsleeves and be comfortable again.

Well, on the day in question, I decided not to just remove the bra, but to do a complete wardrobed tear down. Must have been a work day.  LOL  It's at this point I inspect when I'm removing. (I tend to spill food on myself...a lot...so I usually check to see if I've ruined yet another top.)  as I'm removing e foundation garment, there, in the right cup, is...

Well, I have no idea what it was.

It was dark brown.

It was furry.

And, when I poked at it, under the furry part it was hard. Like a piece of melted tupperware.

Now, Ladies.  We've all gotten that stray cracker crumb or bread crust or apple core stuck in our bras, right?  (There's no lying on this blog.)  But...what...is...this?

The first thing I did...you know...AFTER freaking out...was to check my right bosom.  I mean, I don't know what I expected, but it would have surprised me to see that Right had exploded and left behind furry ectoplasm.

and yes, it's at this point I know I should have taken a picture of the mystery substance.  I did not. Instead, delighted to see my boob hadn't exploded, I tossed the bra into the laundry basket, promising myself I'd deal with it on Thursday, which is laundry day at the Bradley house.

I didn't sleep well, knowing that IT was still in my bedroom, waiting to...oh I don't know...slither out of the laundry basket and attach itself to another piece of my clothing.  So, after a sleepless night, I dug the bra out of the hamper and showed it to hubby.

Now, Hubby is a far more rational human who enjoys science and exploration.  He took one look at the hard, furry, plastic attached to the inside of my bra and said, "What is THAT?"

Not quite the comforting analysis I was looking for, but at least I felt less stupid. If Hubby didn't know what it was, then I wasn't alone.  He poked at the thing, tried to peal it off the bra lining.  Nope, that thing was STUCK on there.

"I thought maybe one of those Tide pods got stuck in there and didn't dissolve and then in the drier it melted and attracted a bunch of cat hair." This was as plausible a thought as I could have. I mean, we use Tide pods for laundry, and we have four cats, so a lot of cat hair winds up in our drier.  That made sense to me.

"No, those pods dissolve with a drop of water," says hubby.  I don't know how he knows these things, but I rarely question his knowledge of science and machinery.

"How about this," he says.  "Put it in the sink with hot water and see if it softens enough to remove."

That was a good idea, since, again, this is my favorite bra we're talking about. I'd really hate to have to toss it and buy a new one.  I just got this one broken in the way I like it.  (You know, the band's stretched out enough to accommodate my back fat.)

So I filled the kitchen sink with hot water and a bit of Dawn Dishwashing soap (because I LOVE Dawn dishwashing soap) and waited.   A few minutes later, I pulled the bra out of the hot water, and sure enough, the glue-adhesive-plastic-wax had melted enough and dissolved, leaving bits of dark fur behind.  I rinsed the fur away and hung the bra up to dry.

But...I mean...WHAT WAS THAT?  HOW DID IT GET THERE?  And WILL IT COME BACK?

Unfortunately, I may never know. And maybe that's a good thing?