Mammary Madness

 *Note: Highly feminine topic. Not the type of boob-reading most men would like. Or understand.
     I don’t think much about bras. In fact, I try not to think about anything around boobs at all. Just like I don’t think much about my knees. But after an unfortunate comment I made in the presence of a very good friend about my clothes not fitting well and how I hated to shop anymore, I found myself out on a supervised shopping trip, looking for a perfectly fitted bra.
     Fifty plus years old and I have never been “fitted” for a bra. I didn’t even realize they came with expert opinions and directions. My whole tactic was just to go to the nearest department store, try on a couple of number sizes until the band could be hooked, and buy the largest letter size they had. Simple.
     The problem is that I had no idea uniboobs were not in fashion. Hence the reason for clothes not fitting well. I was short a boob and a waist!
My friend set us up with fittings at Nordstroms. Unfortunately, the resident measurer that day was tall, thin, probably an A or B, and maybe all of 12 years old. Okay, not 12, or they wouldn’t have let her work there. But it was quickly clear that she could not feel my pain over a properly fitting bra. She announced I was about 6 cup sizes larger than what anyone sold in a regular store! But even armed with that knowledge there was nothing in Nordstroms I could wear.
     Do you have any idea how much area cups that size cover? I may need those cups, but the problem is that I’m actually a tiny skeleton covered in a lifetime of meat, potatoes, butter, and brownie pie. When the bra makers create a bra with a mid-alphabet cup size they assume the person going to wear it is 6 foot 11, and about 3 feet across. I’m 5 foot 2, and narrow. Very, very round, but narrow.
Put a large cup bra on me and it goes from clavicle to waist. Underwires poke into my armpits and prevent me from putting my arms to my sides. The straps land somewhere between my shoulders and my elbows. Not a flattering image, huh? Not comfortable, either.
     Trying again on another day we headed to a shop in Dallas which specializes in bras of all kinds and will alter them if needed. My long-suffering friend even drove me there, knowing I won’t drive south of 635. But she was interested in seeing if there might be some items for her too, so off we went.
     Once there, a very nice lady took us into a private area and began the process of measuring and interpreting a proper size for me. Oh happy day! I wasn’t 6 sizes larger than I thought. I was only 3 sizes larger. I know, that wouldn’t have been such happy news if I hadn’t spent a week thinking I was twice the size. I feel like I lost a lot of weight this way! Just let me have my delusions.
     The sales lady began to bring in some very nice bras, but the same thing happened just like at Nordstroms. The bras were for much taller women. After two hours, about 50 bras, two sales clerks, and one seamstress, I had no hope. They were all frustrated, I was depressed. I finally asked to see some sports bras in the newly measured size so that I would at least have something which fit right.
Lo and behold, they fit and were comfortable! They aren’t perfect, but for whatever reason they don’t poke, prod, or consolidate boobs. They are a little too high across the top, but cleavage has never been my thing anyway. Highly overrated if you’re on the back side of it. I bought one in each color and went away happily.
     What I discovered after a little digital research is that I should be looking for some petite plus bras. It sounds like an oxymoron, but it makes sense. Not all large breasted women are big-boned. Some of us need extra support in a smaller square foot area. When I recover from this episode, I plan to order some of the petites and check them out.
     My friend was not so lucky. I guess I wore the store out so bad they never did show her any of the convertible bras she was hoping to find. I think I owe her another shopping trip. I hope it’s shoes this time.