Marcia Fug Harden

Marcia Gay Harden seems like a nice, classy lady, and I am thrilled that she is wearing a bra. But I'm not as excited that I can see it -- if for no other reason than the shape of it is giving me acid flashbacks of the parade of strapless bras I've tried to wear over the years. Always, I had the best, most chest-supportive intentions, and always, the bras let me down -- they'd get yanked up repeatedly when they begin their inevitable and frequent slide downward to my ribs, taped  to my skin so they wouldn't gap and stick out and create ridges at my bustline, wrestled skyward again because holy GOD, those things DO NOT STAY PUT, and then ripped off in a drunken fury through my sleeve in the elevator of my old apartment buiding because I so reviled them that I couldn't wait the two minutes until I would safely be inside my apartment. I didn't want to go back to that place, Marcia. I didn't want to relive those days. Even if yours is strapped, or part of a dress lining, or a camisole... it's taken me someplace dark.  And it's taken you someplace matronly. Save us both, please, Marcia Gay. Save us both.