Bra Shopping for the Boobless

I know, I know. There are pictures of bras on my blog. STOP THE PRESS. THE PERVS ARE COMING!! But even though my father reads this blog, as do many members of my extended family, I just gotta write about my bra shopping trip yesterday. It was priceless.

In order to understand why this trip was so amazing, we must go back in time. To the last time I went bra shopping. My ex and I were visiting Little because she had JUST BEEN BORN. We were in Kansas City. Four years ago. FOUR. At the time, all of my bras had been pretty much destroyed by time. So I had taken to wearing the last remaining bra I had--a strapless push-up bra that no longer pushed anything up. It also was falling apart. I am not what you would call, oh, fashionable.

So I'm holding Little, who had a problem vomiting every few minutes at the time, when she horks all over me, down my shirt, and INTO my bra. After we all got done laughing, Dorothy suggested that I go change my bra while she washed the one I was wearing. My ex said:

"Please, just throw it away. She wears that bra EVERY day. Take her shopping."

Dorothy looked at me with horror. So I borrowed one of her bras and we left the men alone while we went to Target. I hate shopping. Hate it. I start sweating; I get angry and annoyed. I wanted to get in and out of Target as fast as I could. So I picked out a couple of bras, tried them on, and scoffed as Dorothy looked at the one I chose and said, "That's a Mom Bra." As in our mother. I said, "I have Mom's body. Duh." I totally didn't care. It was a basic bra, no underwire, boring. I bought that damn thing in four colors. Shopping trip done!

Flash forward to the present day. I still wear those bras every day. They no longer support me. They are stretched out like you wouldn't believe. Even when I tighten the straps as much as I possibly can, the straps still fall out of whatever I'm wearing and twist themselves up. It's embarrassing to have your bra showing no matter what you do. I wear tank tops all summer long. With straps hanging out.

Yesterday, I realized I was finished with all of the work for my contract. Hmmm. That finished a little early. No more work! What should I do? Then I started thinking about my clothing. How it's all falling apart. How my limited supply of tank tops get thrown in the wash every week because of mowing and yard work and the heat of Iowa. Time for new clothes? Yes. So I called Ma, and we headed to Old Navy. The way I roll with shopping is that I go to Old Navy, hit the clearance section, and fill my cart. I don't even need to try things on (unless it's jeans, which I didn't need yesterday). So I filled my cart with a variety of $3.99 tank tops (which are sooo cute), and other items. Nothing was over $15. A full cart later, I was ready to go look for bras. Because it was just time, and I couldn't ignore my sagging breasteses anymore.

So we headed over to the shiny new JCPenny across town. I'm not really a Victoria's Secret kind of gal, after all. Everything in there has 5 inches of padding and underwires that shoot out and stab your chest after like a month.

Shopping in the middle of the day on a Thursday = no one is there. Which = no sweating and anger. It was peaceful shopping. I picked out 10 bras and went into the dressing room. OOF. Problems!

I wear an A. An A, I tell you. But no, they didn't fit.

Ma from the peanut gallery outside the door: "I think you need a B, honey."

Me: "No I don't. I'm an A. I've always been an A. I'll always be an A."

Ma: "Um, I think you need a B, honey."

Me: "No. Why don't these FIT???"

I was starting to get pissed. The bras were tight all the way around and in the boob area? They just looked Wrong. I was starting to sweat. There are a LOT of lights in the bra department of JCPenny. Just sayin'.

So after much wrangling, my mother convinced me to try a B. And go from my standard 36 to 38.

RELIEF. Happiness. Joy? Oh yes, Joy. I could breathe. And so could my boobs. And the bras? Less momish than before. Because I'm not my mom, after all. The one above? Super cute. Can be transformed into a racer back. And SOFT. It's from a brand called Barely There. It has a little foam in it to keep the Turkeys from Being Done (ahem, Jennifer Aniston). I'm not usually an underwire kinda gal. Not necessary. But this one works OK. I'm also not a fan of the bras with giant pads in them for the little-boobed sect. I don't want to false advertise. And my experience with padding is that it eventually mushes itself up into awkward shapes in the bras. These bras I chose just have that light foam layer in them to keep you from Flashing Your Headlights at the whole town on a crisp summer evening. Whew!

Next up, another slightly momish bra with no underwire by Ambrielle. I also picked up exactly ONE kicky, funky-colored fun I'm Single Bra by this company, but I refuse to post the picture to spare my father. So you get the normal one:



And then we have the UBER-comfy bra by Warner. And it's purty, too. Wheeee:


So of course, I got all of these bras in multiple colors so I wouldn't have to go bra shopping for another four years. Ma heaved a huge sigh of relief that she won't have to see my purple Target strap sticking out anymore. I came home and put on my new bra and felt like a million dollars. I threw on a new tank top and went to meet my friends at the watering hole. And when I confessed to the girls what I'd been up to, they admired my shapely breasteses. They said I look much more comfortable and held UP. Whooo hoooo!

There is nothing quite as rewarding as one of your best girlfriends looking straight at your tiny chest and saying, "Wow, your boobs look GREAT!"

But deep down inside, I knew why they looked great. Cause I gained some weight. Oh well. At least I have boobs now.

Wait. Now I need new undies. Sigh.