You know, I wouldn’t have to keep making these posts about bra shopping if I’d stay the same damn size for more than five minutes straight.
Three months ago, or thereabouts, I bought a new bra at Victoria’s Secret, where they kindly informed me that I was a 40D, probably headed towards 40C. Okay. I could handle that. Sure, you don’t get the really cool bras, but at least you can buy something there, instead of being relegated to the icy hinterlands of DD. (…So…cold….)
And yeah, I’ve lost a little weight since then, so the looseness of said bra was no great surprise. I assumed that, as is normal in women losing weight, I’d dropped a cup size. In the course of packing, I also came to the glum conclusion that my underwear drawer is an absolute disgrace to humanity, threw out about ten pairs that should have been mercifully executed years ago, realized that my underwear shopping also hadn’t kept up with my weight loss, and decided it was time to go blow some hard-earned book advance on what is euphemistically known as intimate apparel.
Off I went. Victoria’s Secret is my choice for bras, because a bra is a complex beast and it is best left to the professionals. I slouched in and was accosted by a dead-eyed saleswoman. “40C?” I asked hopefully. She looked vaguely past me and waved in the direction of the back, where they keep the sizes for those of us who are more Bouguereau than Nagel. I sighed.
Once in the back, another saleswoman, much less dead-eyed, descended on me, like a blond whippet on a despairing rabbit. “What are you looking for?”
“40C?” I asked, much less hopefully.
She eyed me up and down and said “No.”
“You’re not a 40. There’s no way you’re a 40.”
“Not a chance. Come on.” She unslung her tape measure and hustled me into the back. “You’re a…yup…36D exactly.”
“…I am?” I haven’t been below a 40 in years.
“Yup. Perfectly on the nose, too, not a half size or anything.”
“Well, I did lose a lot of weight recently…Does this mean you have more bras that will fit me?”
“Do we ever. Here, take these…and these…and these…and this one…”
So, having apparently dropped four inches around the ribcage in three months–but not a cup size–I then spent far, far too much money on a pair of bras that actually fit. Because suddenly Victoria’s Secret had a whole shit-load of stuff that fit me.
I stared in the drawers that were now my size and thought They actually make bras in colors other than white and beige?
Dude. I mean, I don’t NEED leopard print or stuff with rhinestone hearts, but it’s nice to know that if I felt the urge, the choice is there!
(Mind you, in another few months, I’ll probably be back there shopping again, but wow. Divorce is one HELL of a diet plan.)