tell me

Is there anything worse when shopping than trying to find a well-fitting bra? Okay, a bathing suit maybe, but THAT you don't have to wear every day. For me, a comfortable bra is one that I don't feel at ALL, but unfortunately I've never found one of those brand new. No, that state is usually achieved after MANY years of use, which means of course that the bra no longer does most of the things it was originally designed to do. But really, why should we have to break in a bra the way we sometimes have to break in shoes?

Anyway, last week I finally went on my can't-possibly-wait-any-longer bra-shopping expedition, and luckily enough went into a store that offered a $5 dollar coupon if you were fitted first. After mentally trying to decide how stretched, ratty, and embarrassing my old bra would be and concluding I didn't give a damn, I offered myself up to a willing clerk who confirmed for me what I'd suspected for years. That my ideal band size is 35. Yep, not 34 or 36, the only sizes they make, but 35. Which means that the 34-size bra is always too tight, and the 36-size one (because of course they make the cups a bit bigger as well) is usually too loose. Sigh. And for some reason I have the same problem with my feet! They're in between too as my ideal size is 6½ or 6 Wide which is not always easy to find. Thus, I often end up with shoes that are either too small (size 6), or too big (size 7). Grrr.

But getting back to bras. So here I am in the changing room (and why is it that no matter how loooooooong you're in there you often end up with a bra that after an hour at home you decide doesn't quite fit anyway?) debating between the one bra that was too tight and the other that was too loose. I finally let the weary clerk (I swore I saw her roll her eyes at least once) talk me into buying the one that was too tight as she tried to reassure me that over time it would stretch. Hmmm.

Got home and when asked by my downstairs neighbour and friend what I'd been up to, he proceeded to inform me that he'd just watched an Oprah show on bra fitting, and that guaranteed, no matter what size I'd bought, I'd bought the wrong one. Now, I won't say that glaring looks or an escalating argument (starting with "what the hell would a non-bra-wearing person know about bras anyway, and why were YOU watching THAT particular episode?") ensued, but I won't deny it either. Snort.

After the prerequisite "darn, why did I buy THIS one?" hour at home, I decided I did not want to travel back and forth by bus again, and cleverly, or so I thought, hauled out an old shouldn't-really-be-worn-anymore back-up bra (every woman has at least one, no?), lopped off the part with the hooks, sewed it onto my brand-new yet-to-be-broken-into bra, and wished to high heaven that I'd been smart enough to buy a bottle of wine on the same trip.

Yep, looking forward to the next bra-buying excursion already.