The Scary Side of Bra Shopping
As a girl, I remember waiting for my breasts to come in. I had a book that depicted the size of your breasts as you went though the different years of puberty. It didn't seem like my boobs were bursting forth on schedule so I finally gave up and just went bra shopping.
I purchased a training bra in size 32 quadruple A or something like that.
I wore it religiously but it kept ending up at my collarbone since there wasn't much to hold it down. But thankfully, there is nothing sexier than a girl with no chest constantly tugging at her bra.
My breasts finally did come in, way later than most of my friends, and they were not exactly a spectacle to behold. But they were mine and so began a lifetime of searching for the perfect bra. My mother was absolutely no help since her suggestion was to wear no bra. And as much as I appreciated her bohemian, "show off those nipples" free spirit, I was looking for a little coverage and support. And since there were no Lifetime Double Divas to guide me, I just embarked on my own.
Bra shopping is one of my least favorite things to do. Like it's sandwiched somewhere between a root canal and going on a blind date with a guy who talks about himself in the 3rd person.
The problem with bra shopping is that you never know when the bra actually fits. Sometimes it fits one boob but not the other. Sometimes it looks good but then you realize the straps are limiting your ability to breathe. Which seems necessary to sustain life. Or you get yourself completely tangled in the straps. Or it's ugly. Or it's expensive. Or you get blinded by the fluorescent lighting as it reflects off your ghostly pale skin. Or you realize in the dressing room that you are completely starving and must leave immediately. There are just so many perils to this activity.
And the very worst part is when you have to ask for assistance. I mean, it's such a desperate moment, when you duck out your head out of the changing room and beg some unfriendly sales clerk who has clearly worked in the lingerie section for 47 years if she can come give her opinion of your breast situation.
So, mostly I don't ask for help and grab the bra that seems to fit the best. Of course, multiple pregnancies meant a whole new batch of bras. At first, I was very excited to be the proud owner of larger boobs. In fact, I've been pregnant so many times that I became convinced that my pregnant/nursing boobs were the size of my actually breasts.
But then sadly, once I've stopped nursing, those beauties have shriveled and sunk to new lows.
At this point, I have a million bras in many different sizes and I have no idea if any of them fit properly. One of these days (once I'm not pregnant anymore), I'm going to get a proper fitting. At a place with no fluorescent lighting that hopefully serves snacks and cocktails.
Watch Double Divas on Lifetime, Tuesdays at 10p.9c