Even off, the bra confounds me. This arch-nemesis of mine is full of surprises, so to speak.
When a bra comes out of the dryer, it takes great skill to unwind and untwist the strange Gordian knot of strings and cups. Alas, I have been forbidden to solve the puzzle as Alexander did. So I sit down and focus: I twist a string here; I duck a cup through there, until, Lord willing, I come out with a straightened bra.
Then, supposing that happens, I am faced with a new problem: How do you fold a bra? In the past, I've just balled them up and thrown them in the drawer with all the other unmentionables. Today, however, after years of allowing the problem to incubate in the back of my brain, I think I figured it out. I treated the bra as I would a fitted sheet. In essence, that is what a bra is, I reasoned. So I inverted one cup into the other and gingerly folded the strings underneath and within them. The folded bra is beautiful, artistic - Dare I say it? Voluptuous.
I beat my chest and roar.