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Adventures In Bra Shopping

Like most moms I know, once we had children, our needs became secondary to that of our children’s.
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To illustrate my point, I don’t have my nails or hair done on a regular basis (even though I’d love to) because I mostly focus on school supplies, new school clothes, ProActiv solution, and a million hair care products, all for my kids.  That may be why I have been wearing the wrong bra size for almost three years:  not making myself a priority, which I know many moms are guilty of doing.

My daughter, Kayla, who works at Victoria Secret, coaxed my other daughter and me to the VS semi-annual sale.  As I stood at the bin rifling through the sherbert colored discount bras, a young woman approached me.

“Have you had your bra measurements checked recently?”  I thought to myself: was it that obvious that I had not?

“Not since the 7th grade,” I responded.  She seemed unaffected by my attempt at humor.

“Do you know what size you are wearing?”  she continuted.

“A 36 C,” I told her.  Suddenly, she whipped a tape measure across my chest and concluded: “38DD.”

At that point, she recommended that I try on their “fit bra” in the dressing room .  I stumbled away, dumbfounded.  Double D?  Impossible.  I found my daughters and shared the news.  Neither one of them seemed as surprised as I was.

I tried the “fit bra” only to determine I am a 38D.  My daughters then rummaged the store for bras in my “new” size.  They came in the dressing room with me and a batch of bras for me to try on.  As I took off my t-shirt, they erupted into giggles.

“Mom,” Shannon began, “that bra does not fit you.”

“Well, it’s close, Shannon,” was all I could reply.  “I thought it was fine.”

“No, it’s not,” she continued.  “You have ‘underboob’.”

I stared at her blankly.

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“Your boob is coming out the bottom of your bra.”

“And the top,” Kayla added.  “You have ‘spillage’.”

“Can you notice with my clothes on?”  I asked.

“Oh yeah,” they said in unison.

“Fantastic,” I replied sarcastically.  As I took off my bra and began to try on the first of the daughter approved bras, both girls stopped me.

“That’s not how you put on a bra, is it?”  Shannon asked incredulously.

“What?”  You slip your arms through and hook it in the back, with one hand.  It improves dexterity, ” I smiled.

“Whatever.  Your hook isn’t even in the right one,” she said.

Kayla chimed in. “You should hook it in front, around your waist and then bring it up.”

“Listen guys, ” I began, “I appreciate the help, but I have been putting on bras for more than 30 years…”

“Yeah, the wrong way,” Shannon piped up.  Spoken like a true teenager who knows everything.

Despite the fact that I was shamed by my lack of bra knowledge, I did discover that the bigger bra was more comfortable.  The straps didn’t dig into my shoulders and I didn’t have over- or underboob.  Plus, the hook in the back did not feel like a straight-jacket.  Armed with my enlightenment about bras, I asked the girls to help me with a new endeavor: underwear.

“Hey, let’s go see what size underwear I should be wearing!”  The girls seemed less than enthusiastic about this prospect, but I knew that it was time to retire my holey, unsexy underwear, as well.  That is, until I saw the price of underwear–thirty bucks for a piece of cotton string!  My “mom” instincts then kicked in.

“On second thought, ladies, let’s go buy some school clothes…”


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