How I went from a 36B to a . . .
This could read like one of those ads in the backs of women’s magazines. Just use this magic cream/exercise contraption/dietary supplement and you, too can look like one of those swimsuit models.
I got a coupon in the mail today from Victoria’s Secret; $10 off a Very Sexy Infinity Edge bra and a free panty to boot. I headed straight to the mall. Incidentally, before I moved to Charlottesville, I was a fashion obsessed shopping columnist for the local newspaper. When my husband got here, I had him walk the mall, cell phone in hand and tell me what stores were there. Once I heard there was a Victoria’s Secret, I knew I’d be OK. I gave up the shopping blog I wrote when I moved and oh, my how I’ve missed blogging about my undergarments. I’m sure my family has missed that, too. (I’m not the most embarrassing mom, ever. Seriously, consider Britney Spears or Pam Anderson. That’s my defense.)
So when I got to the store, I was hesitating between sizes. I’ve worn the same size since I was 13 or so with a few pregancy-related departures, of course. The sales associate said, “I think you need to be fitted,” and promptly summoned the bra fitting expert. I cringed. I can think of few experiences more humiliating than a bra fitting. I’m so self-conscious when it comes to items that may, or may not fit my body. Dressing rooms for me have long been many mirrored dungeons of hell.
But I thought, what the hey, I’m tired of tugging and being uncomfortable and very obviously wearing what I’m pretty sure is the wrong size anyway, so I dutifully trotted along to meet my Mephistopheles in pink.
Quickly, painlessly, she whipped a measuring tape around me in three different spots, ogled me for a bit and pronounced her decision. “You’re at least a D, and probably more like a 34.” Good thing the store is carpeted, or my chin would have really hurt when it hit the floor. “Trust me,” she said, in her expert, soothing tones, and sidled off to select a style I’d like in a size I never, ever would have chosen.
Millions have seen the episode of Oprah where a thousand women get bra fittings and something like 99 percent of them are wearing the wrong size. I’m here to tell you — you’re probably wearing the wrong size, too! I was stunned when I tried on what she brought me and yes, it fit really well. She had me raise my arms — did you know that a bra is not supposed to move when you lift your arms?
So for once, I had a pleasant dressing room experience, complete with a discount at the time of purchase and a free add-on. She said, “I bet you’re going to tell everyone you’re a D.”
No, I’d never do that, that would be way too embarrassing.