Bra Support Quotes

A friend is like a good bra: hard to find, comfortable, supportive, always lifts you up, makes you look better, never lets you down or leaves you hanging, and always close to your heart.

When did feminism become confused with Buddhism? Why on earth have I, because I’m a woman, got to be nice to everyone? And why have women—on top of everything else—got to be particularly careful to be “lovely” and “supportive” to each other at all times? This idea of the “sisterhood” I find, frankly, illogical, I don’t build in a 20 percent “Genital Similarity Regard Bonus” if I meet someone else wearing a bra. If someone’s an arsehole, someone’s an arsehole—regardless of whether we’re both standing in the longer

A bra looks good, gives you comfort and support but every now and then, you need to get rid of it and be free. Then there's the thong, it's hot, sexy, and cute but eventually it becomes a complete and utter pain in the butt. Lastly, there's the little black dress, the one that goes with everything, it's hot, sexy, cute, makes you feel confident and no matter what, it's the one that you always keep. Just try it, next time you a guy, see which one he fits into, I promise you, you will soon be able to form a whole list.

So instead of a bra, what do you think I wore for support, intergalactically? Gaffer’s tape.

Black, because that’s the only color with the ability to make my boobs appear smaller. In light colors, they’re bouncing around like two uncontained beach balls, even with a super supportive bra.

Public opinion polls have long proved there is majority support for pretty much every issue that the women’s movement has brought up, but those of us, women or men, who identify with feminism are still made to feel isolated, wrong, out of step. At first, feminists were assumed to be only discontented suburban housewives; then a small bunch of women’s libbers, “bra burners,”3 and radicals; then women on welfare; then briefcase-carrying imitations of male executives; then unfulfilled women who forgot to have children; then women voters responsible for a gender gap that really could decide elections. That last was too dangerous, so suddenly we were told we were in a “postfeminist” age, so we would relax, stop, quit. Indeed, the common purpose in all these disparate and contradictory descriptions is to slow and stop a challenge to the current hierarchy.

Change Your Look With These Top Notch Fashion Tips In fashion, there aren't any set rules. There is no one right way to be fashionable. Read a lot of different sources and then take what you've learned, pick it apart and use the tips that are best for you. Continue reading to learn great advice that you can tailor to your own wants and needs. If you like a shirt or skirt think about getting it in more than one color. Because clothes come in so many varying cuts and styles, you're likely find it difficult to find clothes that fit well for your body type. When you do just get more than one so that you can feel great more often. If you have thick or very curly hair, using a gel product will help you to create the style you desire. Work the product into towel-dried hair and then style it as you want. You can allow it to dry naturally, or use a hair drier. This is especially helpful in humid weather. In today's business world, it is imperative that men be well dressed. Therefore, it is essential to shop for top drawer clothing when buying clothes for your next interview. To begin your search, look through today's business magazines to ensure your wardrobe matches the top executives. Look for whether men are wearing cuffed pants or hemmed pants, ties with designs or solid ties as well as what type of shoe is currently in style. Skimpy tops are comfortable to wear in hot weather, but be careful if you are a big busted gal. Your figure needs good support, and you will feel more secure if you wear a sports bra under a lightweight top that has skinny straps and no shape of its own. Don't overstock your beauty kit with makeup. Just choose a few colors that match the season. Consider your needs for day and evening applications. Makeup can go bad if it's opened, just like other products. Bacteria can build on it, too. Have yourself professionally fitted for a bra. An ill-fitting brassiere is not only unflattering, but it affects how your clothing fits. Once you know your true size, buy a few bras in different styles and cuts. A plunge or demi-cup bra, a strapless bra, and a convertible bra give you versatile options. The thing about fashion is that it's a very easy topic once you get to know a little bit about it. Use the ideas you like and ignore the rest. It's okay not to follow every trend. Breaking away from the trends is better if you desire to be unique.

I pull the fire escape door open, scoop my eyeshadow palette off the ground and slip back inside. For a moment, I pause in the corridor and catch my breath. Adrenaline is surging through me. Rage. A normal woman would call the police at this point. But a normal woman would never have been paranoid enough in the first place to pretend to go to the toilet, only to sneak out of the fire escape and spy through a window to watch what her date does when he has five minutes alone with her drink. Nope. A normal woman would have gone to the loo, done a pee and topped up her lipstick. Or she’d have texted a friend about her hot date, feeling giddy with hope and excitement. Now, let’s think about what would have happened to a normal woman. A normal woman would have headed back to her date, smiling prettily, before sitting down and drinking her drugged drink. Then, a short while later, that normal woman would have started feeling far more drunk than she normally does after just a couple of drinks, but she’d probably blame herself. She’d wonder if maybe she’d drunk too much. Or maybe she’d blame herself for having not eaten earlier in the day because she didn’t want to look fat in her dress. Or maybe she’d blame herself because that’s just what she does; she blames herself. And then, just as she started to feel woozy and a bit confused, her date would take her outside for some fresh air and she’d be grateful to him. She’d think he was caring and responsible, when really, he was just whisking her out of sight, before she started to look less like she was drunk and more like she’d been drugged. And then the next thing she’d know, she’d be staggering into the back of a cab and her date would be asking her to tell the driver where she lived. And when she’d barely be able to get the words out and her date made a joke to the driver about how drunk she was, she’d feel small and embarrassed. And then she’d find herself slumping into her date’s open arms, flopping against his big manly body, and she’d feel grateful once more that this man was taking care of her and getting her home safe. And then, once the taxi slowed down and she blinked her eyes open and found they’d pulled up outside her flat, she’d notice in a fleeting moment of clarity that when the driver asked for the fare, her date thrust two crisp ten-pound notes towards him in a weirdly premeditated move, as though he’d known this moment was going to happen all along. As though he’d had the cash lined up, the plan set, and she’d feel something. Something. But then she’d be staggering out of the taxi, even sloppier than when she got in, and her legs would be buckling, and she’d cling to her date for support, her make-up now smudged, her eyes half-closed, her hair messy. She’d look a state and he’d ask her which flat was hers, and she’d walk with him to her front door, to the flat where she lives alone. To the place that’s full of books and cute knick-knacks from charity shops and colourful but inexpensive clothes. She’d unlock her front door, her hand sliding drunkenly over the lock, and she’d lead him into the place she’s been using as a base to try to get ahead in life, and then he’d look around, keen-eyed, until he spotted her bedroom and he’d draw her in. And then all of a sudden he’d be in her bedroom and she wouldn’t be able to remember if she’d asked him back or not or quite how this happened, and it would all be moving so fast and her thoughts would be unable to keep up – they’d keep sliding away – and he’d be kissing her and she’d be unsure what was happening as he pulled off her dress and she’d wonder, did she ask for this? Does she want this? Has she been a ‘slut’ again? But the thoughts would be weak, they’d keep falling away and he’d be confident and he’d be certain and he’d be good-looking and he’d be pulling off her bra and taking off her knickers. He’d be pushing himself inside her. The next day, he’d be gone by the time she woke up. She’d be blocked, unmatched...

It won’t happen anytime soon, don’t worry,” Berkeley says, amused. “We still have two albums left on our contract, and like I said before, the band’s a big business—it supports a lot of people—we’re not going anywhere.” “Well, that’s a relief. You scared me. I was about to ask if you wouldn’t mind autographing my bra so I’d have something to remember you by.” He takes his time responding, his eyes slowly looking me up and down. “But you’re not wearing a bra,” he finally points out.

A young guy is playing golf when a golf ball hits him in the groin and he passes out. His friends take him to the doctor. When he regains consciousness, he asks, “Well, doc, what do you think?” “We’re going to have to put in a support for about a week.” He then takes four tongue depressors, positions them around the man’s penis, and ties the whole bundle together with string. The man is devastated. “But tomorrow is my wedding!” he tells the doctor. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to cope.” The next night, the man and his new bride are in bed. She takes off her bra and caresses her breasts. “No one has ever seen these before,” she says, seductively. At which point the man drops his pants and says, “Well, mine’s still in the crate!

Not much a woman really needs besides the support of a good bra and a close friend.

What she revealed was not sexy lingerie, but a supportive piece of athletic equipment. After the consolation match that preceded the championship game, both Brazilian and Norwegian players removed their jerseys and exchanged them on the floor of the Rose Bowl. Chastain had previously removed her jersey after regulation to air it out. While training in Florida, the players frequently doffed their shirts after practice in the smothering heat, and they sometimes gave interviews in their sports bras, which were items of utility, not titillation. Chastain 'has brought instant attention to a piece of clothing that is humble and practical, not a traditional bra of shine and lace and cleavage, but a sturdy compression garment,' wrote Ann Gerhart of the Washington Post. 'The sports bra is the cloth symbol of Title IX's success.

She peered down and rotated her hips, trying to look behind her. “What about me? Is it the shorts? Did I not trim enough off? I skipped the underwear so I wouldn’t have any lines. It’s the bra, isn’t it? I went for support so I wouldn’t jiggle when I ran, but you’re right. It’s got to go.” And it did. A shimmy, a wink and a wiggle later, a black lace confection went whipping towards his face. He caught it, stunned. “You’re completely and utterly psycho.

Did you hear Dr. Jenkins was caught roller-skating half-naked in the middle of the night on Prospect Road?” Don’t act shocked. It’ll just motivate her to stay and gossip longer. It’s no big deal whatsoever that your doctor is a freak. Roger shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a little exercise.” Maggie did a double take. “Without clothes?” “Smart man—less to wash. I hate doing laundry.” Maggie blew out a desperate breath. “He was wearing his nurse’s bra!” Note to self: find a new doctor.  “You can never have too much support,” said Roger. “The guy’s got some serious man-boobs.

She takes advantage of the commotion to unhook her bra. It rises quickly to cup her chin, which is nearly a double anyway so the extra support won't do any harm.

Right/Wrong Things To Say To A Client About Foundation Garments Don’t Say… Your body needs extra support and your current undergarments aren’t working. Do Say… One great way to look and feel good in everything you wear is to wear foundation garments that fit. Did you know that you should get a new bra every six months, or if you gain or lose weight? Let’s find some that fit you and make you feel fabulous.

The door opened behind us and several of the cheerleaders shrieked as Darius strode in wearing his Pitball uniform, making a beeline for Tory. She was only in her skirt and sports bra, looking to him with her brows arching. “Flans on a Friday!” Geraldine exclaimed mid-lunge. “This is the ladies room and Jacinta has her Petunia out!” She pointed at Jacinta who was struggling to get her panties up her legs, getting entangled as she stared at Darius’s back in alarm. Darius rolled his eyes, ignoring the chaos around him as he fixed Tory in his sights while I fought a grin at the two of them. I couldn’t believe what Caleb had done for them and I was so happy that there was a way they could be together sometimes. Even if that did involve a threesome with two Heirs, at least she was enjoying herself. Get it, Tor. “Cheerleaders sometimes support a certain player on the field,” Darius said as he pushed his hand into his pocket and took out a navy ribbon with the word Fireshield on it. “Will you cheer for me today, Roxy?” He held it out for her and I swear she actually blushed. “I’m cheering for Darcy and Geraldine too.” “We don’t mind,” I said immediately. “Do we Geraldine?” “By all the rocks in Saturn’s rings, of course we don’t!” Tory shrugged in answer, a smile playing around her mouth and he leaned forward and wrapped the ribbon around her throat and tied it in place. “They’re normally worn on the wrist,” Geraldine whispered to me overly loudly. “This is most romantic.” “Good luck,” Tory said and he nodded before heading out of the room. I bit my lip, looking to her for a comment while Geraldine rested a foot up on the bench, pressing her elbow to her knee and perching her chin on her knuckles as she gazed wistfully at my sister. “What?” Tory asked innocently. “You know what,” I teased and she fought a grin, glancing over her shoulder as if checking to make sure he was really gone. Then she cast a silencing bubble around thethree of us and her expression became anxious. “It’s not that I don’t like the sweet side of Darius, but…” she started. “But what?” Geraldine gasped. “What is it?” I pressed gently when she didn’t elaborate. She sighed, looking a bit guilty. “I just miss our back and forth. This isn’t him. It’s just a nice version of him. I want the real Darius, not some watered down version. And I need to be sure the real Darius isn’t going to hurt me again. Like what happens when one day I piss him off and make him lose his temper again?” Geraldine’s jaw almost hit the floor, but before she could try and convince Tory otherwise, I spoke. Because I knew my sister, and I was starting to get a fairly good read on Darius too. And she had a point. He was on his best behaviour right now, but that couldn’t go on forever. If they were going to find some way to make this work, she needed to know what long-term Darius looked like. And besides that, she lived for being kept on her toes. (Darcy)

I accidentally look down her dress and glimpse the strapless white bra supporting the sloping white hills of her breasts. I think of white elephants, which gets me thinking, of course, about abortion. Dead babies. This woman eats dead babies. My stomach quivers, but not out of revulsion. I have anxious butterflies as I get into the car. And I’ve always fancied myself to be a bit of a sociopath, for fuck’s sake.

She knocked on Vic’s door and leaned her head in. “You rang?” “Heard you got your ass reamed in court,” her boss said. “Support,” Wendy said. “That’s why I work here. The support I get.” “You want support,” Vic said, “buy a bra.” Wendy frowned. “You realize that made no sense.” “Yeah, I know. I got your memo—check that, your many and repetitious memos—complaining about your assignments.” “What

accepted it because at this point, my only support system was a bra. “Thanks.

They want you to support their goals while you put your hopes and dreams on the back burner. They swear they’ll be there for you until your dying days. Then all of a sudden, after doing all of that for them to succeed, they find a younger version of you to love. A younger you who isn’t emotionally careworn and battle fatigued. A younger you that doesn’t have stretch marks on their belly. A younger you with perky boobs that hang in the right place even after they take their bra off. I don’t want to be some man’s stepping stone to the next woman he’s going to love. I don’t want to be some guy’s stepladder, when I can carefully climb over the same wall without his damn help.

I have a distaste for the term “supporting characters.” It’s not that it’s a bad term, exactly, but it does call to mind a jockstrap or a bra—something created only to lift and support something else, that’s purely architectural and not alive with that precious spark of life we assume characters should have.

Her bra’s underwire had helped block the blade from penetrating deeper, saving her life. Talk about offering additional support.