My Pesky Sports Bra is in on Karma's Evil Ploy

I've noticed lately that my whole wardrobe needs to be replaced. This revamping is scheduled to cover every last inch of my closet - not just pants, shirts and shoes - I need a new bathrobe, underwear, socks, bras and as of yesterday, even a few new sportsbras.

My current sportsbras have had a good run - entering into their 4th or 5th year now. I'll admit that 4-5 years is a greater lifespan than any average sportsbra could or should endure, but just the same, I hold onto them as long as I can since shopping for them is boring and they're usually the last thing I care to spend my money on. However, the time has definitely come. My current ones are stretched out and ragged, and are not providing anything more than psychological support at this point.

My fave sportsbra is one I stole from a past roommate whom I loathed, so it has sentimental value that spans beyond the regular supportive parameters. This is the one I wore to the gym yesterday. As I was running on the treadmill, I could tell that my right gam was bouncing a bit more freely than it ought to have been. I solved the problem by checking in with it every few minutes and pulling the bra back up over it. It was a pain, but still a solveable issue.

As I was walking back to my apartment, I saw some girl trip on a slippery manhole while pacing in front of a restaurant by my place. "Boy, doesn't she look like an ass?" I thought to myself as I approached my door. As karma would surely have it, I saw what can be no better described than my "pediddled" reflection through the glass of my front door. Yep, I'd been walking around with only one headlight on as my sportsbra had once again slipped off of my right ta-ta. I could all but hear the girl who had just slipped thinking, "Boy, doesn't she look like an ass?"

I like that: Even my boobs are in on the world's plan to dish me up my plate of bad Karma.