I wound up bra shopping today. It’s not something I do a lot. In fact I do it as little as possible. However, I looked down the other day and noticed that my boobs looked like they were leading an expedition to the South pole. So I took that as a sign it was time to go to the store and update my “unmentionables”.
When I first met Doug my girls were perfectly happy residing in a little lacy demi 32B. If you wear a 32B the world is your oyster, at least when you’re bra shopping. Every store has your size in many different styles with an assortment of colors and trims. (Not to mention you can always find some on sale.)
Sadly, I haven’t worn a 32B since Amanda was born. That was some time back to say the least.
I noticed when I was at the store today that some pretty bras were on sale. They were the kind that Doug describes as “having a life of their own”. I think they’re actually described as “plunge” bras. (They have a smooth cup and are attached together in front with just a tiny piece of fabric.) If you wear a plunge bra you never have to worry that you’ll look like you’ve got three boobs because the underwire in the middle is sticking out and showing through your shirt. I’ve got to have an underwire these days. Anything less “industrial” is just not up to the job; and it’s a big job.
I stand there and try to figure out just what size I should take to to the dressing room. Anyway, I grab a 40 DDD- yes, that’s 3-D’s, just like the movies, and off I go, sure that I’ll be successful. But noooooooooo- nada, zip. Not one fit. Logically, I know that I should have just bumped up a size and finished my shopping. Instead I just left straightaway. I’m just not mentally ready to venture into 42DDD territory- not yet.
The last time I even thought about bras was last summer. It was one of my first posts on my blog. It was “Don’t complain about having TB. I know I’ll have to go back and shop for bras again soon. However, next time I might have a wee bit of a drink before I go back.
