Bra Shopping
Yesterday I went shopping, and it felt like making a bargain with the devil for my soul. You see I have always been heavy busty. And that’s okay. Some of you girls reading this will think that I’m bragging. I invite you to watch Iliza Shlesinger´s show on this topic. Yes it’s beautiful to be busty, but big boobs are really difficult to house.
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So anyway, I went to a shop where I had bought bras before. They had a super wide range of beautiful little things. There was a wall full of a wide array of beautiful lacey bras in all colours. I started my search at eye level as that made sense to me. Before long, it became clear that mine was not an average pick that they needed to put at easy arms reach. It took me no less than 30 minutes of searching, and while crouching down almost on all fours, I found the three, 36 DD that they had in stock. I would have wanted the beautiful black or even crimson red variety, but had to make do with a strange skyblue, and flaky puke yellow. When you’re my size, you take what you can get sometimes. I really like the style of this bras so decided to go with it.
I have been 36 DD for some time so was very confident in my choice. That said I had noticed that my own bras had started tightening hence the reason for my shopping excursion. So I decided to pick one size up 36 E (which almost had to reach over to Narnia to find). I decided to try them out, just to be on the safe side. I don’t usually like trying out bras, in fact I don’t usually like trying out clothes at the shop. I prefer to take everything home, try them within the comforts of safe surroundings, and return what doesn’t work. In this case it just seemed to make sense. So I went over to the cosy changing room, removed the multiple layers of clothing I had since it was winter, and tried them on. The 36 DD did not fit. My face fell. It’s not just that they did not fit, it was like trying on a child’s tutu dress: nothing was where it was supposed to be. I wasn’t happy. With a heavy sigh I moved over to the E. It did not fit. It felt several sizes too small. I felt like crying. I actually started thinking back to my lunch and what they had eaten that week, asking myself what was going on. There and then, I decided to go on a diet. I drew the curtain to the side while covering myself up and asked the shop assistant if she would go out and find me the F, trying to cover my face as I asked. Who wears the F! Apparently that would be people like me. She went found it and brought it back, and ladies and gentlemen I have to admit that it fit. As I sit here writing, I’m wearing that tent of a bra that could probably accommodate a small runaway cult community under its caps.
Getting bigger is never fun. You never want to think that your eating habits (or God forbid age!) have you ballooning. So in my case I didn’t. I determined that that particular brand in that particular store had a strange numbering habits for their bras. (Yes I had bought bras there before that fit. Yes my own bras were becoming smaller. But that is neither here nor there!)
