What Uncomfortable Thing Can't You Stop Wearing?

Good afternoon, ladies. Welcome to my tale of torture. You are about to witness a terrifying ritual of masochism that involves a woman, her breasts and one very uncomfortable bra (say in Vincent Price spooky voice). Mu-ha-ha!

About a year ago I purchased a new bra from a very famous lingerie retailer. What you should know is this: Despite all my big talk about trying to be sexy and all the fancy underwear I want to own, I hate buying bras. I don't really understand them and I always wind up with the wrong ones. Like my current torture device--what we'll call Black Magic--an itchy, stabbing, just downright mean undergarment that makes my chest look far more amazing than it has any right to. The other night, after a full (perky) day on the town with Black Magic, I took her off and realized I had wounds on either side of my rib cage. Like, CUTS. However, instead of retiring the bra, or at least giving myself a break, the next morning I slapped on two Bandaids and wore it again. By the end of the day, I was bleeding. This is when I realized I had gone thoroughly insane, that I'd become the type of person who values looking good over feeling good and that this was a pretty annoying way to live.

I started thinking about all the Black Magic-type torment I've endured over the years. Like the fancy designer shoes that twisted and contorted my feet so I resembled Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects , the painted-on jeans that made breathing shallow and digestion next to impossible, a pair of elaborately heavy (yet stunning!) earrings that rendered my lobes droopy slabs of Silly Putty--the list goes on and on.

I'm not suggesting we all give up, stop caring, wrap ourselves in a Snuggie-Ugg suit and call it a day. I'm merely wondering: Isn't there a better way? And if so, does it lift and separate and come in a size 34C?