So, it all started with my quest for a brassiere. Not a nursing brassiere. Not a Wal Mart special (less than $9.00) brassiere. Not a bra that I knew would be soon stained with something or over-worn and under-washed.
I was going to Victoria' Secret. I was going to buy me a proper over the shoulder boulder holder.
To be honest, Vicki's never really did it for me in the days of old (when I was on the prowl and thought, like a dufus, that guys cared about stuff like that). I didn't care for the single clasp on the back, that even on a skinny day made me feel like I could shove some quarters in my back fat and save them for later, in case I happen upon a gumball machine or need to do some laundry at the coin-op. I didn't care for the shiny flowers. I didn't care for the price tag. I didn't care for the fact that I was a 'irregular size' and told that repeatedly. A 38 B bra size just makes me more special. And screw you, Tiffany. Eat something other than your cigarettes and your Bubbleyum. Sorry.
I think I may have gone the catalog/clearance route once or twice, but the days of lingering over a lingerie magazine are far from my reality. When I usually realize I need a bra, it's much, much too late. There are usually already stains, stretches, inappropriate cup situations. Backfat for you and your friends. It's kneejerk, which unfortunately seems to be how I take care of things like this. But it's a new day, my friends. And when I say friends I am actually referring to those two, but you also.
So I go. And I wear the wrong bra. It's like a sports bra (see? I just throw on whatever is there that won't show my nipples...I just don't like those things sticking out, it's not sexy to me. Just makes me feel all nekkid). So the VS girl measures me and she says I'm a friggin' A CUP.
After I wake up from passing out in a zen-state of euphoria....this is a long story too but I would always prefer small biddies over big biddies and hearing that I'm an A cup is like hearing that I really am black on the inside (I've always known this) and that DNA has just proven it to be true.
Or, that I have really small biddies. Wheee!
So I have to come back at a later time. This usually means I'm not coming back. And the sucky thing is that I have a coupon for free skivvies and $10 off a fancy bra should I choose to purchase one. But I can't get the free skivs and use the coupon at different times so I apparently really do need to come back. Historically I would never go back. But remember, it's a new day. And my breasts deserve a nice, lofty, cushy, expensive new high-rise condo called a brassiere.
I go back! I think I hire a sitter (I mean this is an act of breastly desperation, right? Who hires a friggin' sitter to get a BRA?...Oh, a mom does). Anyway, so I get sized. Still a 38B, the earth still rotates properly and all is right in the world (I sadly let the A cup fantasy go). She brings me 3 kinds. Two are promising, but ensure me lots of strap-pulling and back-fat glancing, so I decide to just go for the extra nice purty one that I didn't think I could pull off. It's also $50.
$50 for a BRA? The only expensive bra I've ever owned was purchased for me by my dear Mommy and it was post-delivery-second-baby-in-14-months-holy-shit-this-girl-needs-a-decent-bra, bra. It was wonderful with lace cups and underwire and snaps and I wore it EVERY DAY for 9 months. Medela, like the breast pump, bra. It was amazing in a world of early mornings and late nights and tearful latches and very hairy legs.
So it's called the Bio Fit Bra. You can wear it 7 different ways! And you know what, I don't know about you, but I have about 4 shirts I just don't wear AT ALL because I can't find the right bra to wear with it. Maybe it's a racerback tank top. Maybe it's a tighter blouse that makes me feel like I'm a coin collecter for the laundry. Maybe it's just too sheer and my little guys pop out. I don't know, but this bra has switches and hitches and hydraulics and clear straps and like 15 different places to latch the little strappies into. And a lacy little pouch for the extra straps Oh Dear Me! And it fits me. It fits the cups and the back and the shoulders. It's got 3 THREE, for the love of God just give us THREE rows for clasps.
I was going to Victoria' Secret. I was going to buy me a proper over the shoulder boulder holder.
To be honest, Vicki's never really did it for me in the days of old (when I was on the prowl and thought, like a dufus, that guys cared about stuff like that). I didn't care for the single clasp on the back, that even on a skinny day made me feel like I could shove some quarters in my back fat and save them for later, in case I happen upon a gumball machine or need to do some laundry at the coin-op. I didn't care for the shiny flowers. I didn't care for the price tag. I didn't care for the fact that I was a 'irregular size' and told that repeatedly. A 38 B bra size just makes me more special. And screw you, Tiffany. Eat something other than your cigarettes and your Bubbleyum. Sorry.
I think I may have gone the catalog/clearance route once or twice, but the days of lingering over a lingerie magazine are far from my reality. When I usually realize I need a bra, it's much, much too late. There are usually already stains, stretches, inappropriate cup situations. Backfat for you and your friends. It's kneejerk, which unfortunately seems to be how I take care of things like this. But it's a new day, my friends. And when I say friends I am actually referring to those two, but you also.
So I go. And I wear the wrong bra. It's like a sports bra (see? I just throw on whatever is there that won't show my nipples...I just don't like those things sticking out, it's not sexy to me. Just makes me feel all nekkid). So the VS girl measures me and she says I'm a friggin' A CUP.
After I wake up from passing out in a zen-state of euphoria....this is a long story too but I would always prefer small biddies over big biddies and hearing that I'm an A cup is like hearing that I really am black on the inside (I've always known this) and that DNA has just proven it to be true.
Or, that I have really small biddies. Wheee!
So I have to come back at a later time. This usually means I'm not coming back. And the sucky thing is that I have a coupon for free skivvies and $10 off a fancy bra should I choose to purchase one. But I can't get the free skivs and use the coupon at different times so I apparently really do need to come back. Historically I would never go back. But remember, it's a new day. And my breasts deserve a nice, lofty, cushy, expensive new high-rise condo called a brassiere.
I go back! I think I hire a sitter (I mean this is an act of breastly desperation, right? Who hires a friggin' sitter to get a BRA?...Oh, a mom does). Anyway, so I get sized. Still a 38B, the earth still rotates properly and all is right in the world (I sadly let the A cup fantasy go). She brings me 3 kinds. Two are promising, but ensure me lots of strap-pulling and back-fat glancing, so I decide to just go for the extra nice purty one that I didn't think I could pull off. It's also $50.
$50 for a BRA? The only expensive bra I've ever owned was purchased for me by my dear Mommy and it was post-delivery-second-baby-in-14-months-holy-shit-this-girl-needs-a-decent-bra, bra. It was wonderful with lace cups and underwire and snaps and I wore it EVERY DAY for 9 months. Medela, like the breast pump, bra. It was amazing in a world of early mornings and late nights and tearful latches and very hairy legs.
So it's called the Bio Fit Bra. You can wear it 7 different ways! And you know what, I don't know about you, but I have about 4 shirts I just don't wear AT ALL because I can't find the right bra to wear with it. Maybe it's a racerback tank top. Maybe it's a tighter blouse that makes me feel like I'm a coin collecter for the laundry. Maybe it's just too sheer and my little guys pop out. I don't know, but this bra has switches and hitches and hydraulics and clear straps and like 15 different places to latch the little strappies into. And a lacy little pouch for the extra straps Oh Dear Me! And it fits me. It fits the cups and the back and the shoulders. It's got 3 THREE, for the love of God just give us THREE rows for clasps.
And so I buy it. With my coupon ($40 for a bra still makes me want to throw up a little) and my free (read: boring) underpants and off I go.
I'm excited!
I'm thrilled!
I'm proud!
I put the bra in the closet. I hang it on a friggin' HANGER.
And I don't wear it for 2 weeks.
Why? Because it's a $40 bra. That is super-special. That fits me. That makes me feel fabulous. Why would I go and do a silly thing like ENJOY it?
So I rock the Old Maidenforms for a bit. And the Wal Mart Not So Specials (I swear one makes my girls like torpedoes, like something out of Austin Powers and it's just not cute on a real person). And then I just decide I need to break. out. the. sling.
So I do. And I rock it. Hard.
Cups are flush.
Back fat is in it's place and it's not even thinking of pulling any funny-coin-business.
And business is covered.
So if you see me with an extra som'm som'n in my swagger. It's the bra baby.
It's the bra.
5 comments:
I know you're busy and all, but PLEASE post when you can, because I so enjoy reading your blog. I'm sure your other 10 readers agree with me!
Love ya!
I've been waiting for this since you told me you'd be bloggin' about the new bra. It was worth the wait - you're a hoot and I can so relate!
So the day I got fitted for a real bra, CHANGED my life! I mean I had run the bra gamut myself. On sale bras at Filene's Basement, catalog bras, sports fitness bras, but eventually it all came down to Victoria Secret. I resented them, but they do all that marketing and send you all those catalogs and in my own way I'm positive I could look like, oh I don't know, Tyra, but the short, white girl version of Tyra.
So I'd been going to this local trendy boutique whose owner was one of those outspoken honest individuals who say things like, "Go get yourself fitted for a REAL bra!" And so, finally, I did. My Victoria Secret bra had given up the ghost more than a year ago, but I just couldn't figure out what to do.
And so I did. And so it changed my life. And I lost 10 lbs. immediately by getting a properly fitted bra that took my breasts and put them on my chest like God intended! And then, of course, I told my sister, "You've got to go get fitted for a real bra...." I told her this several times, but being the younger sister, well I won't go there.
So she called me a few weeks ago. "Guess what I did? I went, like you said (she at least gave me credit), and I got fitted for a REAL bra!" I told you! I told you so! Didn't it change your life? I almost choked on the price she paid. I thought mine was bad enough, but her bras were even really, really pretty and feminine.
I didn't spring for the pretty ones (I told you I choked on the price), but next time.....
She did say that the lady told her that you have to give your bras "a break" and not wear them every day. I thought that was really funny. Giving your bras a break.
Jen - you are a hoot! Just catching up on all the summer posts, Love this one = you are so talented!
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