| I'm sorry, I'm just wildly
sick of seeing women wandering around in ill-fitting or inappropriate
bras. Or, god forbid, that saggy no-bra thing you see with
smaller boobed women when they're wearing a little T and the boobs
are wobbling below the motto on the shirt. Okay, I don't really
mean to be getting up on a soap box, if you want to wear an ornate
lacy bra that looks like Braille under your thin blouse, you go
right ahead. I'm really only here to talk about comfort.
Now, I don't know if you've
noticed it on yourself, but my freakin' boobs keep changing size!
The twenties are apparently a wacky period for your body.
Who knew? Fat gathering or losing aside, I thought my figure
was pretty much set in stone when I hit 18 or so. I don't
know what the physiological story behind it is, I just figured
once a 34B, always a 34B. This is, apparently, not the case.
I've talked to many a gal who suddenly got curvy at 26.
As for myself, I've been a 36B, a 36C and now, a 34D in the last
few years.
Yeah, absolutely, even slight
weight gains and losses hit your breasts first. That's why
I've realized that every time I buy a bra, I need to start from
scratch. And I should in no way assume that I have any expertise
on the subject. This is what you simply must do: ask
the god-damned saleswoman! I'm telling you, it's changed
my life.
First, decide what you want
in a bra. Are you looking for an everyday bra? Something
that will keeps the gals in line even over the most daunting speed
bumps (there is nothing pleasant about the feeling that your tits
have just torn slightly away from your chest)? Or maybe
your boobs, no matter the size, are, as my sister insists ours
are, on either side of the county? You might simply want
something that will mash your breasts together. Or maybe
a baby has sucked the life out of them and you'd like to create
the illusion that they have vim and vigor. Regardless, tell
the saleswoman.
You walk into, say, Victoria's
Secret (or any place with good saleswomen, and a wide array of
quality stuff) and you find a helpful woman and tell her
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exactly
what you want your bra to do
for you. Tell her
you need to be measured, not just for distance around, but cup size
as well. And if she hems or haws instead of saying, "This,
my dear, is exactly what you need," or if she just doesn't do it
for you, ditch her and find a chick who does. This is everything.
You want a babe who knows her shit. Adjust the straps (don't
be lazy, loosen those puppies up), try the thing on and see if you
like it. Are you gorgeous? What happens when you jump
up and down? What's it look like with your top on? (And wear
something appropriate. If you're looking for a bra to enhance
your cleavage, wear a V-neck for god sakes.) When that top's
on, leave the dressing room, find your lady, lift up your shirt
and say, "Does this fit me?" That, dear readers, is the key.
Just because it's comfy, doesn't mean it fits. A friend of
mine went shopping with me, and when I saw her bra, I was appalled.
Sure, she felt comfy, but her fabulous creamy pillows were barely
being held up by some dash of Calvin Klein gauze. She's like,
"Yeah, I wear a B cup," and I'm like, "Nah unh!" She was a
C cup if she was a day. And boy did those fellas look great
once they were properly trussed up.
But yeah, here's the thing,
we don't know what we're doing, or how our jugs have changed since
we last bought them a treat, but those salesgals do. Man,
the good ones really do. And they see breasts all day long,
so don't give me any of this embarrassment crap, you're a grown
woman. Ask them, "DOES THIS FIT!!!" Another important
question to ask is "What are the signs I need to look for that
will tell me my ladies need a new home?"
I can't tell you how rockin'
my life is knowing that I don't, at the moment, wear a 36C, as
I had foolishly thought, but a 34D. That's why there was
a spot of pooching here, a soupçon of pulling there.
That bastard didn't really and truly fit.
I've learned my lesson, never
again will I buy a bra without a fabulous woman with bra-fitting
knowledge leaking out her ears saying, "Yeah baby, that motherfucker's
fitting' your form."
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