Friday night, George & I bottled the replacement Dead Poet IPA that The Brew Kettle re-brewed for us. (We think we got the wrong beer, they say they overcarbonated… whichever, we didn’t get the beer we brewed. Which was suck.)
Regardless, we went on Friday to bottle the new beer, and after washing our bottles we were waiting for them to open up our bottling station. I noticed that my sweater was wet. I figured I’d gotten water on me from the bottle washer, but when I ran my hand over it, it didn’t feel like water… it was oily.
I looked around and didn’t see anything that would have gotten on me, so I went to the bathroom to try and clean it off. Thankfully, it was a dark brown sweater and didn’t show too much.
I’m paper-toweling but the oil isn’t coming off.
Then it hits me.
Do you remember about ten years ago, when water bras were the rage? They were supposed to look real, not like padded bras that smash inward like the top of a plastic L’eggs pantyhose package when someone hugs you. I’m not ashamed to admit that I bought myself one of these said water bras way back when.
So, if you don’t already know, let me be the first to tell you.
Water bras aren’t filled with water. They’re filled with some sort of mineral oil.
And how do I know?
‘Cause mine sprung a leak.
I cleaned up as best as I could, thank God for the dark brown color of my sweater, and debated what to do. Stuff paper towels and tissues in my bra to sop up the oil? Not good; pointy and oily breasts are the stuff of hard core anime. I already had a beer in me, so I decided ‘what the hell’ and chucked the bra into the garbage can. Fortunately I was wearing a camisole, but it was probably obvious to anyone who cared to look that the girls were going commando.
I called my BFF Dawn to lament, but she wasn’t available, so I left a long and rambling message on her voicemail. Which I’m sure she laughed heartily at and replayed on speaker phone to anyone within hearing distance.
Which is fine, ’cause it really was funny.