First bra

Ok, I promised something substantial. Hope this will suffice.

What is it about a boy's first encounter with a bra that makes him retarded? Especially when the bra is on a classmate? And there is nothing quite like the retarded collective I faced daily in the 4th grade as I became the very first girl in our class to wear a bra. They had a hard time adjusting to the fact that yesterday, I was the chunky girl, but today, I was somehow irresistable. The boys loved me all of a sudden, and the girls absolutely despised me. It would be my only popular moment in school until junior high, when I sang in public, on a stage, for the very first time. But that's another story.

There was a day at recess when a group of the collective surrounded me at the swing set. They took turns popping the strap of my new garment each time I swang back into their reach. Could I have fled from this negative attention? Perhaps. But it would have been a jump from a high place and I didn't want to fall face-down into the red playground dirt. They continued snapping it until it finally gave way and broke. That was an awkward moment. They laughed and ran away and I sought out my teacher for assistance. Mrs. Vickery, the coolest 4th grade teacher ever to enter an elementary school, always had a solution. I explained my odd situation to her, as best I could in my mortified state, and she took me to the girl's restroom and loaned me her very gigantic teacher purse in which to place the damaged garment. She said she would keep it at her desk, with the other 'confiscated' items, and I could get it back from her before I went home. I walked around for the rest of the day without it, and even though what breasts I had were small and still somewhat insignificant at that time, it was still very uncomfortable for me.

At the end of the day, I waited until everyone was gone and went to retrieve my double-A from Mrs. Vickery's desk. Unfortunately, it was nowhere to be found. Someone had taken it. And the culprit was never found. Luckily, my mother had bought me a gross of them from Sears so I had plenty, but it was just a little disturbing to know that one of the boys I sat in math class with every day had one of my bras in his possession. Or maybe it was the janitor. Eww.

This is a true story. I'd actually like to make this into a joke. How's this for the punchline:
So at the end of the day, I went to get it back, and it was gone, so I just took what was available from the 'confiscated items' drawer. The Yo-yo's worked out ok, but I couldn't figure out what to do with the Pixie sticks.