The brassiere, bra, over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, slingshots, flopper stoppers and my all time favorite boobie-baskets.
As defined my Merriam-Webster:
Main Entry:
bras·siere Listen to the pronunciation of brassiere
Pronunciation:
\brə-ˈzir also ˌbra-sē-ˈer\
Function:
noun
Etymology:
obsolete French brassière bodice, from Old French braciere arm protector, from bras arm — more at bracelet
Date:
1911
: a woman’s undergarment to cover and support the breasts
To me they are personal torture devices. I wish I never had to wear one, ever.
I remember being in the third grade and my aunt taking me to buy my first bra. I remember her telling me I had to wear one because I needed to, not because I should. From that day forward I have tried all different kinds.
No-wire, underwire, wire-less underwire, cotton, cotton blends, demi, full, unlined, lined, padded, push-up, racerback, strapless, one strap, and wrap-around straps. It’s too much.
I wore so many cheap bras growing up it was pitiful. When Shawn and I got married I had two ridiculous cotton bras. One featured Pepé Le Pew, and the other Fred Flintstone, or maybe it was Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm. Anyways, they were thin might-as-well-have-not-been-wearing-a-bra bras. It was sad.
When I was pregnant with Rapunzel Brenda took Shawn shopping to get me bras. He came home with beautifully lacy itchy bras that I hated. When he gave them to me I actually cried; I was pregnant, it happened a lot. Then I yelled at him for buying me bras that I didn’t like and werent going to fit in a month. What can I say, I wasn’t always a happy person when I was pregnant. Sometimes I was just plain bitchy. (Sorry Mom.)
Eventually we all loaded up in Sue’s truck and headed back to the beach. We were able to return them to Cacique with minimal effort and then the hunt was on.
To me it rivaled a safari. We all scoured the shop looking for just the right one, and when we found it, BANG! Of course to be the right one it had to meet the following criteria:
1. Shawn had to like it.
2. I had to be able to wear it.
3. Shawn had to like it.
4. It couldn’t have too-skinny straps.
5. Shawn had to like it.
6. The piece between my boobs couldn’t touch my chin.
7. Shawn had to like it.
8. It had to be within our budget.
9. Shawn had to like it.
10. My boobs had to stay IN the bra.
11. Shawn had to like it.
Do you see a pattern there?
It was a very long and drawn out safari. I’m sure when Brenda took Shawn he said, “She wears a 36C. What will fit?” Then proceed to buy ones he thought were pretty. I’m sure it took them longer to find him a purple shirt than it did to get me two bras.
It is a little over 11 1/2 years later and my situation hasn’t changed much. What has changed is that now I really hate bra shopping.
Since I seem to be going up in weight and not down I’ve gone up a size. I have been a 36C since junior high. Well, except for when pregnant or nursing. Then I rivaled Dolly Parton with the whole my boobs are bigger than my head thing.
A few winters ago I went up to a 36D, I lost 10 pounds and dropped back down to my regular size. The new bras I bought a few months ago are already too small. I have a feeling I’m going to measure at a 38C/D. My band size has never gone up. Not even when pregnant.
I am not looking forward to bra shopping. It requires multiple stores, with multiple women touching me and telling what I “need.”
What I need is this:
I need a bra that will keep my boobs in check. I do not want them making special appearances whenever they feel the need to breathe.
I need a bra with major adjustments in the straps. I am short and there is no such thing as a “petite” bra.
It cannot have pointy cups. I do not want to hear renditions of “Express Yourself” as I walk past.
It must be fully lined. No one else needs to know if I’m cold just by looking at me from across the room.
It must not have as much material between the cups as it did to make the cups.
I’m leery of “demis.” “Demi” does not usually contain enough material to keeps my boobs in check. Though this one might.
It cannot be a balconet. The straps are so far apart on these that I don’t know how anyone keeps the straps on.
It has to pass my rigorous dressing room test of, jump, wiggle, cross arms below the boobs jump and wiggle some more. If at any time my boobs pop out. The bras fails the test.
It can’t look like a nursing bra, something my grandmother would wear, or something my daughter would pick out.
I generally don’t do lacy bras. They are usually itchy.
I prefer underwires, but I don’t want the wire poking me in the armpit.
I don’t mind showing a little cleavage now and then, but I shouldn’t be able to stick a pencil between my boobs and have it stay there. So extreme push-up bras are out of the question. I mean, I don’t mind a little lift, and I’m sure Shawn would tell you that they need a little help after nursing two kids, but they don’t need to touch my chin.
They cannot contain anything that when poked by my six year old will leak.
Do you see why this may be a problem?
To make matters worse I have a little over a week to figure out where I want to go bra shopping. I am feeling very overwhelmed. After many hours online I am not finding much that I think will work. Though I did get one link from a friend that I’m wiling to try. If I can find it.
Victoria may not not be able to help me this time.
The only good thing I found tonight was the best bra fitting guide ever.
P.S. I don’t even want to think about how many times I used the words “boobs” in this post. But I’m a Mommy Blogger so it’s allowed, right? Right? Please tell me it’s allowed.
Filed under: 
