Monday, June 24, 2013

The Bra-Fitting Episode

Ladies (Gents?!?), have you ever been fitted for a bra? I hadn't. Until last weekend. Tee hee! Now before anyone gets all comfy with some popcorn and settles in for a titillating (get it?!) tale, let me give you a few important facts:
  1. The lady who did my bra fitting was not particularly attractive and talked with her mouth full
  2. Just prior to the fitting, I ate a massive bowl of garlicky pasta
  3. As a result of #2 (hee hee!), I quite likely had garlic breath and herbs in my teeth
Okay, so we've got that straight. It shouldn't be remotely sexy any more. On with the story. My husband and I had just eaten a late lunch at an Italian restaurant. This particular restaurant is in a town center-type of area. You know: a square surrounded by cute shops and restaurants, and, in the middle, a giant fountain that kids run through and probably pee in? Yeah, that kind. Anyway, having stuffed our faces, we lurched out and, lo and behold, I saw a lingerie store next door.

"Huh," I thought, absentmindedly adjusting my constantly loose bra straps, "I COULD use a new bra."

I suggested we pop in and my husband heartily agreed. (Perv.) The store was empty apart from the saleslady, who ambled toward us eating something with her mouth open. (Grapes, as it turned out.)

She looked at me. Her gaze drifted down, where, through my tee-shirt, she could plainly see the outlines of my ill-fitting bra. This amazing bra had stretched to the point where it was completely separate from my flesh, leaving a bagged-out tent in the front of my tee-shirt. I fidgeted with the straps again, but no amount of tightening was going to fix that stupid gap.

The saleslady used her tongue to push a half-chewed wad of grapes to one cheek.

"Need a fitting?" she smirked.

"Hahahaha! Yes, I guess so!" I giggled, like a mentally unstable 12 year old. "You can probably see the one I'm wearing doesn't fit so well!! Hahaha!"

"Mmm-hmmm," she mumbled through the grapes. She motioned listlessly for me to follow her to the back.

"He can sit over here," she tossed over her shoulder, indicating some black leather chairs in the middle of the store. My husband was mesmerized by the full-size pictures of women in their undergarments and didn't hear her.

"HONEY!" I shouted, as the saleslady and I made our way to the back of the store. He peeled his eyes reluctantly from one of the pictures. He wasn't even able to formulate a response. He just raised his eyebrows at me.

"SIT! HERE! WHEN YOU GET TIRED OF STANDING THERE!" I pointed to the chairs. He nodded and didn't budge.

Well, I didn't have time to worry about my husband's sudden regression to adolescence. It was Time for the Fitting! The saleslady and I squashed into a minuscule dressing room. She finished her grapes with a loud gulp and asked me to take off my shirt.

"Oh, BOY!" I laughed manically. "I'm so embarrassed about the bra I wore today! See, all of the others are in the wash..." I trailed off. She was looking at me pityingly.

"Yeah, everyone says that."

I silently took off my shirt and stood, pale and vulnerable, in front of her, my grayish-brownish bra bagging out in front of me. I easily could have stored a half-dozen of her grapes in the gap in front of each cup.

"Lift." She gestured to my grotesquely flabby arms.

I lifted. Out of nowhere she whipped a measuring tape and measured just above and just below my bra.

"I'll be back," she said, flinging the curtain aside. Fortunately, the store was still empty; no one saw me hunched in shame in my shapeless, dingy bra. I noticed my husband had managed to unroot himself from in front of the half-nekkid lady pictures and had settled in to one of the leather chairs. He was fiddling with his phone. I prayed that he wasn't going to do something embarrassing like take pictures inside the store.

The saleslady shuffled back, having apparently refreshed her supply of grapes, which she was chewing with relish.

"BVJGDHJSGY," she said, thrusting a pile of bras my way.


I snatched the bras and snapped the curtain closed. I tried the first one on. Not bad.... I could see the saleslady lurking just outside the curtain.

"It fit?" she barked.

"Yes..." and before I could finish she had crammed herself back into the tiny dressing room.

"That's a 32D," she announced. "What size is...THAT one?"

She grimaced and pointed to the bra I had discarded on the floor.

"32B," I peeped.

"Yep, most women don't have a clue what size they really are. Try the rest on," she ordered and left again.

I was still reeling from the fact that I was fitting in to a 32D. A *D*!! Ha! I whipped off the bra and tried on the next one: a C. It, too, fit. Then I picked up an improbable-looking 32DD. Okay, was this lady on drugs? I put it over one shoulder and could tell there was not a chance in hell it would fit. I flung it aside and tried on another D. It fit! What the hell? I peeked out from the curtains. She was still hovering nearby. My husband appeared to be dozing in the chair.

"Um, excuse me?" I began. "How is it possible I'm fitting into a D?"

She rambled something about the cup size relative to the other measurements she had taken. It didn't  make a bit of sense. Plus, it vaguely involved math (well, numbers anyway), so I automatically tuned out. Who cares, anyway? I was going home with a damn 32D bra! I didn't care if physically I hadn't changed one iota from the "carpenter's dream" some total a-hole had once called me (...'cause I was flat as a board...HAHAHAHA, get it? His wit knew no bounds.)

I even have the pictures to prove it.

I will now be strolling about town in SEDUCTIVE COMFORT in my new size...
Oh, and here I am wearing it.

This may LOOK like a tag I ripped off the bra, but it's totally not.
There's an epilogue to this tale. There I was, strolling in, yes, seductive comfort yesterday when I noticed a...jabbing.

"Hey, THAT'S not particularly comfortable," I said to myself, seductively.

Turns out, the stupid bra had a wire thingy that was starting to poke into the flesh that gathers in a dough-like bulge just under my armpit. So I returned it. And wept. But once, yes once, I wore a D!


  1. Bras and the fitting thereof are so much fun. Not. And the underwires are really, really talented at working free and stabbing the woman who just paid a small fortune for the privilege.
    In my yoof I had a part-time job selling bras and knickers (not a posh enough store for it to be lingerie). One of my brothers used to regularly sail through and humilate me. He would pick up a boxed bra and talk loudly about suing the store for false advertising because the bimbo whose photo was on the box wasn't in it.
    Memories. Sigh.

    1. Oh, dear! Did you have to do the measuring?? Those wires are torture. The things we do so our boobs will stay in place. Really, it's nonsense.

      Your brother sounds like a character. An amusing character. Then again, I have the sense of humor of a 14-year-old boy.

  2. Ah, poor thing. I can empathize.

    I went bra shopping last week, and yes...had the fitting ugh! So I was told I needed a 36C. No way in heck I thought as I checked the tag of my old 34B tattered, stretched to the limit, almost in sheds, non descript coloured bra. The young...very, very young salesgirl handed me a pile of bras.

    Well none of them fit. She said she just didn't understand why. So, I finally let her into the dressing room to have a peek a boo while I was wearing one of the bras. AHHA she said, nodding frantically, the rushed out of the cubicle yelling "I will return".

    Of course I knew why none of them fit! I have old lady boobs, which include underarm and back fat. So there is way too much flesh for those cute lacy "push ‘em to your ears" numbers.

    She came back with a handful of more a size I only thought centerfolds wear. (I’m not gonna tell ya the size). Anyway… a couple did fit, because they are for the woman with a more mature figure, AKA “old lady boobs” Am I proud of my new inflated bust size? Nah, I much preferred being flat chested, and thin.

    1. Karen,

      Your story made me laugh out loud. Damn bras. Damn aging. I'm pretty sure that, while rather, erm, carpenter-dreamy, mine are succumbing to gravity. WTH? That was supposed to be a consolation for routinely getting mistaken for a 10-year-old boy: at least they'd be perky. Nah...

  3. Seems you act similarly in dr offices & in lingerie shops! nervous laughter, etc! Very funny! BTW: I am a 36A. I will trade you!MK

    1. Well, mrs., have you ever been FITTED? Maybe you are really a DD!!

  4. That's hilarious!!! I am planning to treat myself to new bras for my birthday and you have, um, given me some food for thought.
    I've probably been walking around in the wrong size for years! Dreading the fitting, but my mum tells me the place she goes to is brilliant and not at all embarrassing, so here's hoping.
    My current collections is very sad and drab. Actually, extremely sad and drab.
    Thanks for the kick up the jacksie and for making me laugh so much I snorted a piece of pasta up my nose. That'll teach me.

    1. Ooh, you'll have to let your fans know how it goes! Just wear your least pathetic one to the store, and you'll be fine! That was my mistake. It was hideous.

      Happy to make you laugh! (sorry about the pasta, though)

      p.s. Crammed in half the box of Malteasers today. FAB!

    2. HOW can you stop at half a box????? Hope they weren't crumbly from their 3000 mile journey, lol.

    3. I polished them off today. Wanted to make them last, as there was just the one box (ahem).

      YES! They survived intact. In one rather large blob, actually, but it was no trouble at all to separate it into chunks just small enough that I could cram 4 - 5 in my mouth at once. Divine!

  5. Hmm, you should write a book, woman. Best post yet. And, I'm here to save the day. No more need for embarrassing fittings! I saw this on the Today Show: I ordered the kit and have been having a lovely time stuffing my boobs into various plastic cups. And that's as far as I've gotten.

    1. Wow, please keep me posted on your progress. That kit Maybe a YouTube video in your future?!

      Thanks for the book comment. How fun would THAT be?

  6. Why, oh why, when you returned the pokey bra, didn't you get one of the others that were candidates? Now you are back to your old baggy boob holder. Bleah.

    This story deserves a happy ending.

    1. I know! Silly me. Actually, the saleslady (different one) said she'd order another pokey bra for me. So...we'll see how THAT goes. There may yet be a happy ending.

      While I wait, yes, baggy boob holders it is. For the record, I have more than one, lest anyone think I'm wearing the SAME one every day!

  7. I'm so glad I live in the backwoods where I can get away with wearing layers of loose shirts and no mid-section binding device! I hate bras! Besides, my acupuncturist says that bras press on all the wrong places and interrupt our flow, as it were. And that's probably even without the added support wire (ow!).

    1. Oooh, I'm jealous! How liberating to not have to wear one. Mind you, I could probably get away with it, given the aforementioned "carpenter's dream" comment (ass), but I live/work in a rather well-populated area, so for now it's a midsection binding device for me! Boo.

  8. :) made me laugh, especially since my POOR 13 yr old daughter had to endure going bra shopping with her FATHER! It is NOT as if she doesn't have a MOTHER or one that isn't present and involved, so not sure why it is that he felt he had to fulfill this duty...especially since I had just been to the store with her a few weeks ago and bought her FIVE new bras. BUT nope, that wasn't enough, and so off they went. I suppose I wouldn't even have been aware of this "horribly embarrassing" experience, if it weren't for the fact that once there were there, in the store, surrounded by women's unmentionables and some old lady that kept giving my EX mean looks (probably pegged him as a pedophile:)my daughter called me. "Mom, can you PLEASE tell dad that I AM a size "C"!!! Apparently he wouldn't believe her....WTF, why would she lie? Realize that for some girls, they might want to develop faster than they are, but our daughter is NOT that type, and for god sake, IF you are going to put you daughter through this in the first place, don't publicly announce "there is NO WAY you are a "C"" Poor girl:(

    1. Oh, horrors! At 13, I was embarrassed by everything; bra shopping with my father would have been OUT OF THE QUESTION! How awful that he made that public announcement. In front of all the evil-eye-giving old ladies, no less. I'm cringing!

  9. I'll never eat grapes again. Very funny account! I'm so glad they don't sell Fruit of the Looms in cup sizes.

    1. Why, thank you! Sorry to have put you off grapes, though...

  10. "Hahahaha! Yes, I guess so! I giggled, like a mentally unstable 12 year old**

    OMggggg, you are freaking hilarious.

    Thank you. I needed this today! Xx

    1. Pshaw! You are too kind. But I'm very happy my account made you laugh. I do have more than my share of geeky moments, I think...