I’m Never Wearing a Bra Again
And other scientific lessons from the apocalypse
I’m sitting at my dining room table, hair in a high ponytail, wearing sweats (matching top and bottom, I’m not an animal) after a hot shower. I’m eating burrata with heirloom tomatoes, olive oil, and salt.
I’m not wearing a bra. Aside from the existential dread that comes from California’s “stay at home”…