Last year on my birthday I had dinner with girlfriends at a great steak house called Jimmy Macâ€™s where they play loud country music and throw peanut shells on the floor. The conversation eventually took the turn that all female conversations do when drinking is involvedâ€¦ a turn toward any subject that makes some people blush.
In particular, we landed on a discussion of bras.
I had never paid much attention to my bras, but thought of them more as the bastard step-child of my wardrobe. To me they are constricting and uncomfortable, and for the most part I hate them. My girls are… not largeâ€¦ and donâ€™t require much support, so it never occurred to me that there would be a right or a wrong bra for me.
Somebody mentioned getting a bra fitting, and I was intrigued. I had never heard such a thing. Another friend explained the way a bra is SUPPOSED to fit, and I wondered, How did I get to be 34 years old and not know the fabric in your cleavage was supposed to lay flat against your chest?
I decided that evening that once I weaned Thomas and my voluptuous ladies returned to their former modest selves, I would celebrate by buying new bras that fit correctly (sadly, I wore my nursing bras long after weaning Ruthie, and in comparison to what I NOW am wearing, they are NOT flattering).
Yesterday was that day.
A friend and I went to Nordstromâ€™s by recommendation. I knew in part what to expect, based on Melissaâ€™s description of her experience in this post at Suburban Bliss, but youâ€™re never quite prepared for what actually happens.
I was fitted by a gal named Isabella, who had a fabulous accent. I think it might have been Russian. As she fondled my ladies she would say, â€œSee how the bra cohvers all of the bress teeshu?â€ She measured my circumference, then declared I was a D cup.
Had I been drinking coffee at that moment, I would have spewed it all over her in utter shock. Nevertheless, I humored Isabella and tried on several D cups, only to have this reaction. I may be the only woman on the planet who LIKES her small ladies â€“ I was irritated that I might actually be bigger. I pushed her to try on a smaller size, and in the end she acquiesced that I was a C cup â€“ albeit a BORDERLINE C cup.
I am now obsessed with my ladies. I want to fondle them all the time because they look so perky. I went from having embarrassingly few bras to now having a black one, a lacey red one, a seamless one, a few everyday whities, and a sports bra. I am in the midst of a BRA REVOLUTION!
Bryan is in full support. (Ha! Get it?)