Taking My Bra Off

I just finished teaching my online writing class and realized how much I like teaching. I mean, it’s not like I just realized it, but I had one of those classes where I just have so much fun.

Even though I have a cold and a scratchy throat, or actually maybe because I feel sick, I was more “myself” somehow than I always am. It’s like, when I’m not feeling well, I give myself permission to be a bit goofy and let my real personality out instead of trying to be a “teacher.”

And I think my students had a fun time, too, which is pretty important when you’re dealing with a lesson on formal outlines and plagiarism.

This wasn’t even what I was going to talk about tonight, but somehow this is what came out.

I was going to talk about how I really felt like Stripper Mom tonight. When we sit down to dinner lately, I usually take off my bra so it’s easier to nurse Tommy at the table. No pulling down my bra cup or having to keep adjusting.


Tonight I had a bit of difficulty shimmying my arms down the tight sleeves to free my arms from my bra straps. I saw myself in the kitchen mirror as I wrestled my arms out, bare breasts looking strange with my family reflected in the background.


And I thought how kind of silly it was—me taking off my bra for dinner and no one in the family even batting an eye at this strange little pre-dinner ritual.


It’s kind of like: What does your mom do right before dinner?


Take off her bra and pop out her boob and nurse the baby…and yours?