Should bras be handwashed?

Yesterday morning, I baked a pear and apple crumble and washed my bras. And yes, I did these things simultaneously. I put the bras into soak. I go into the kitchen and peel apples and pears. Back to the sink to wash bras and leave them to soak in detergent-free water. Back to the kitchen to whizz up crumble mix and pour over cinnamon and clove-infused fruit. Leave it to stand, back to the sink again to rinse out bras, put them in a tub to hang out. Back to the kitchen to put crumble in oven. Hang out bras. There was no temptation to confuse the two - bras in oven, crumble in the garden ho ho - but it did make me pause for a minute. Why oh why do bras need to be handwashed? Well they don't do they, you can put them in the machine wash - at least, you can if you wear those frippery things that only people with an A cup can really get away with no matter what the pictures say - because nasty experience has taught me that if you put an underwired bra in the machine wash, it will invariably come back out with the wire hanging out, having capitalised on the megaspin by staging a daring escape plan involving the systematic slashing open of the wire seam. Not a pretty sight, in fact a fairly disconcerting one for others in the family. Who put this SWORD in the wash, bellowed my Youngest when he was around three. So, handwash equals longevity, and I am all for longevity in bras because buying them is excruciating. It comes down to two options. Either it's M&S (yes, despite my best efforts, there is a theme developing in this blog involving M&S, but what can you do? A shop that is both ubiquitous and relentlessly middle class and middle of the road worms its way into your life no matter what you do to try and avoid it); and the M&S bra experience involves long hours searching fruitlessly through the racks for your size in the one that is not push up, extra padding, extra plunge, balcony (what the hell is a balcony bra anyway? Is that, like, for waitresses who want to be able to carry more than 4 plates at a time??)Or you can plump for the 1 to 1 boutique experience. This almost always involves a woman of a certain age with a very loud voice informing you and most of your shopping neighbours of your REAL cup size, as she feels you up relentlessly and mercilessly, and then hands you the perfect bra, which is almost always "champagne" or "coffee" coloured (ie, brown) and costs upwards of two hundred quid. So you see, I wash my bras not because I have developed any emotional attachment to them, but because the longer I can keep them in shape, and girls we have all been down the street labelled washed out and sagging to your knees, and let's be clear that whether we want to present ourselves as attractive or we just want to be able to reach old age with our breasts in the right ball park, ie above the tum and not below it, so this is a look to be avoided if we can possibly help it - anyway, the longer I can keep them in shape, the longer it is before I have to take several deep breaths and plunge back into M&S or The Dragon Lady boutique. You have some very cool bras, calls my neighbour from the back of my house. Excuse me? I answer - this is after all the first time my neighbour at the back of my house has actually spoken to me in ten years and the subject matter therefore feels just a bit too intimate for a first encounter. Yes, she calls out, while her kids, who were jumping happily up and down on their trampoline, freeze in embarrassment - I love the blue one with the red flowers, where did you get it? I think I might ask my husband to buy it for me. Umm, boutique in Wanstead, cost upwards of two hundred quid, I lie, and back away, collecting up my bras to drip into the bath instead of on to my grass. Ideal it ain't, but it's that or put up higher fences and one doesn't want to disturb neighbourly relations. There are however limits, and I have no desire to become acquainted with my neighbour's breasts. Oh for crying out loud. Maybe if I lose my job I will set up a new market in disposable bras. Wear 'em once. Chuck 'em out. No washing. No embarrassing neighbour discussions. More time to bake apple and fruit crumble. It's a no brainer.