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I was about 10 or 11 when my boobs started growing. I didn't know what to expect. The women in my family--my grandma and mom--were both A cups.
I had noticed that my breasts were starting to become more...obvious. Like fleshy triangles, they were starting to poke out from beneath my shirts and sweaters. I thought that maybe no one else would notice, so I started wearing oversized sweaters and baggy t-shirts.
With no prior discussion, my mom came home with a package of three training bras. She threw them onto my bed and said, "Here you go. You need to start wearing these."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because your breasts are growing, and these are training bras."
But, I thought to myself, what exactly am I training my breasts to do?
The bras stared at me menacingly. I couldn't figure out how to get one on and secure. My mom had given them to me with no instructions. I was left alone in my room with the bra bully.
The hooks were in the back and after some contortionist-type moves, I got them together. Only, the two straps in the back were twisted into a helix. I knew it was wrong but I didn't want to try again, for fear that they might unhook themselves. The bra was uncomfortable at best.
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