Chicken WIngs

I love it Jane! Though I must admit I am USUALLY able to fasten my bra behind my back but I do have a decade or so on you (not criticizing -simply stating a fact) and I have not led nearly as hard a life physically as your military and law enforcement background. Thu my flexibility remains a little more intact perhaps-also I have freakishly long arms(6'1") for my height of 5'8" so it is not as much of a stretch for me! My older sister laughed at your story but then admitted that she too fastens in front then spins her bra around too! So you are in good company!

Cyn

The really funny thing Cyn is that I used to think that I fastened my bras that way because I wasn't a 'real woman'. Then a gg friend of mine said she did it that way because it was easier. She got fitted for a bra, knew it was the right one and from then on didn't need to worry how she fastened it.

🙂

I loved the ending, dang now I am hungry.

2016_poets corner: CDH JS original post: 

I chose to listen to a friend

Who had a lot to say

‘Bout how I should be fastening

My bra in the “womanly” way.

She talked of how some ‘clip and twist’

Or tried some other things.

But to her mind, the only way

Was called the “Chicken Wings”.

I listened to her earnest words

And marvelled at her track.

As she described the feminine way

To clip behind the back.

Now I’m no great gymnastic star

Though I can touch my toes

But trying to get my arms back there

Is just adding to my woes.

I delved into my ‘dainties’ drawer

To select a bra of lace,

Then I did some shoulder exercise

At quite a warming pace.

With shoulders flexed and apparel nigh

I bent into my task

To demonstrate my femme prowess

“How so?” I hear you ask.

My arms into the straps I slid

That was the easy part.

But now the clipping up bit is

The thing I have to start.

I grabbed the ends and pulled them round

To get a better grip,

Then thrust my arms behind my back.

“Oh God, did something rip?”

I juggled trying to match the hooks

With quite a lancing pain.

Still the damned things just won’t marry up

I’ll have to start again.

I rest my arms, then fling them back

Determined to succeed

But the pain that hits my upper arms

Near makes my soul to bleed.

I give it now just one more try

But the hooks refuse to mate.

I’m sure they’ve got it in for me,

This method I now hate.

So I slip the lacy lingerie

Back down my throbbing arms

And curse my friend and what I see

As her evil female charms.

With heavy heart my bra I twist

And clip where I can see.

It seems I’m not femme after all

What’s to become of me.

The answer comes, though, fairly soon

When dressed, out on a date.

The only place for ‘chicken wings’

Is seasoned, on a plate.