Coins. Phones. Tissues. Credit cards. Keys. These are small things. They are also things you need to access quick smart. Handbags? Well I don’t know about you, but mine contain a floating and ever-evolving mass of gently disintegrating matter. Eyeliners without lids. Headphones tangled into intriguingly unassailable masses. Budless cotton buds. Empty Nurofen trays – forever separated from their cargo. Flurry of receipts. A single earring. A chocolate wrapper I have tried to hide from myself. It’s a jungle in there.
And so I keep my immediate necessities in my bra. Yes, my boobs are large. Yes, my bras are large which means that the surface area and potential for storage space is generous. Not rucksack generous. But certainly micro-clutch-bag generous.
It started when I used to go clubbing. Money, fags, whatever, tucked into my bra. Yes, it probably compromised my silhouette but I was – and generally am – more concerned with convenience than perfection. Perfection is for other people.
Change for parking meters always sits in my bra. And, when I fling it off at the end of the days, the leftover pound coins clatter to the floor leaving me with the pleasing thought that, “Oh, my breasts make money.” I light candles or my daily cigarette and tuck the lighter into my bra so that I don’t lose it. The result? A bathroom cabinet stuffed with Clippers but none whatsoever down in the kitchen.
I like dresses. They tend to have no pockets. I like jeans but I don’t like digging in tight ones for coins and iPhones have grown too big for jean pockets. And so my bra is my go to storage space. Raise your hand if you have enough storage in your life. See?