I was 11, in sixth grade, when my mom bought me first bra, a training bra. Why the word training? Not sure, it's not as if wearing a bra could actually cause your body to wake up and say "Hey, there's a bra out there. Time to grow some breasts to fill it!" Believe me, this did NOT happen. As a matter of fact, I was the southeastern president of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee until I had my first child, and then they kicked me out. Mammary madness.
To be sure I didn't need a bra yet but I was at an age where I was trying to shake my tomboy image - I wanted to stop looking like a boy. Yes, I did look like a boy. My mom cut my hair in the same bowl cut she gave my three brothers. I wore mostly Toughskins - remember those from Sears? - and only wore a skirt, not a dress, to church.
I wore that bra right out of the store, like most would only wear a new pair of shoes. Cue Donna Summer because I thought I was hot stuff in my Toughskins and new bra that showed through my cowboy scene t-shirt. My mom and I got into her car at the strip mall. Our next door neighbor walked by with her 14 year old son and my mom got out to speak to them. Here's my chance to be noticed, I thought. I hopped right out and puffed out my chest like a peacock. I don't know why I thought he would notice and even if he did, surely I didn't want him to say, "Hey kid, nice bra", because there were clearly no boobs behind it.
I wore that bra for sixth months straight. It never occurred to me that it should be washed occasionally. Besides, it was evident that my breasts needed more training.