This blog is about old lady boobs and bras. If you have delicate sensibilities, you should move on.
I've never been for a bra fitting, because it involves having some young thing look at your sagging, aging torso. My vanity just can't take it. Yet, I knew my bra didn't fit, because years ago, I watched an Oprah show about bra fitting.
Last week I went out and bought a new bra, paying big bucks for it, because if you have a cup size larger than B, you need to pay big bucks for support. If you know what I mean.
I decided I took a 44 H. Yes, there is such a size. It was a comfortable bra.
Saturday night, Charles and Erica came by and I put on a tunic I had ordered in the mail, thinking it was a slim look. "Do I look fat in this?" I asked.
Never ask that question.
What I really meant to ask and finally did was, do my hips look big? Here's the thing: I don't have large hips, but I'm heavy topside. The tunic comes down over the large boobs and just hangs there over your buttocks, so that they look larger than they really are.
"It makes your butt look bigger than it is," Charles said. I can rely on Charles to tell the truth. And then he said, "Why are you hanging so low?"
A question for the ages. Because I'm old like the old ladies in Emigration Ward whose breasts hung to their waists? Why not just go out and buy a navy blue crepe dress with a lace collar and some lace-up Enna Jetticks? Why not sleep with a plastic bag over my head tonight?
That night, I measured. I was not 44 inches. I was 38 inches.
Over the weekend we bought a new power cord for the Ipad at the mall. "Let's go look at bras," I said to Tom. This is what every husband wants to do is shop for bras. He found himself a chair in the lingerie department.
"I just bought a new bra and look how I sag," I said to Rachel at the counter.
"You need a fitting," she said. I told her my measurement and the outrageous bra size I was wearing.
She went and got a half dozen bras and took me to a dressing room. "May I come in while you're changing?" she asks. She is no older than 25.
"Are you kidding me?" I said. "No, you may not watch me change. You are young and I am old. I don't want to see you gagging at the sight of my body." I was wearing a jersey over a blouse over secret underwear over a bra. No one was going to watch me take all of that off and put on a bra.
She leaves, but on the other side of the door, she says, "May I come in after you have the bra on?"
"Yes," I said.
The short of it is that Rachel fitted me into a 38 G. But, people, I'm now a high rider. I am ridiculously happy about this. RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY.
I can't wait to show Charles.