My Cup Runneth Over (or Under)

 I went to the mall recently. I purchased pair of pants, and three bras. I must share how much pleasure I derive from bra shopping. It's a blast. Really. Especially when you can hear conversations such as this from the dressing room next door:


Teenager: MOOOOOOM. That bra is ugly. I don't like it.

Mom: OK, honey, I'll go get you 50 more. Hang on.

Teenager: See Mom, this is the problem. Nothing ever looks good on me.

Mom: Those grey pants looked good on you. They were just too big. So, a size four is too big.

Teenager: And a size two is too small. Sigh.

Mom: So I guess you need a size three.

Teenager: MOOOOOOM. They, like, hardly ever carry a size three.

Mom: Look how pretty that bra looks on you.

Teenager: Taylor loves my flat stomach. He thinks it's so hot.

Non-Mommy: [Wrapping a bra around her neck to hang herself on the little wall hook]


OK this post is about to nose dive into major female oriented territory, so if you don't want to keep reading, don't!


I really dislike shopping for bras. I did get measured once, and the size she gave me was laughable. Yeah. Sure. I can wear that...with two pieces of fruit to fill the rest of the cup. I think she was wrong. But I don't want to be measured again, I'm just too self-conscious. So I don't know if everyone has to try on a thousand bras until you find one you like, but I do. And there are just too many choices. Do you want one that is bullet proof with padding? Underwire? No underwire? Lacy? Smooth? Color? I always think I want the cute hot pink bra, or the green one with brown polka dots, but then what do you wear it with? Once I was wearing a sleeveless shirt to work, and a red bra underneath. The strap of the bra began to show slightly, and one student noticed, and then the entire class went nuts about me wearing a red bra. Seriously. I'm rolling my eyes. So this is the audience I have to shield myself around.


So then you narrow down your choices and go to the dressing room. You know, where it's always very flattering light, etc. Don't forget people mix me up with a freaking albino so I look doubly radiant in those great, stupid lights. Then you try it on, and can't decide. Perky enough? Too perky? Does it give you back fat? How does it look under clothing? And you also think other happy thoughts like "Darn you, Nutella, and your chocolatey, hazelnutty goodness!" and "Why am I not an Olmypic beach volleyballist, or swimmer?" Then you go to pay for the bras, and they are freaking expensive. And then, I need therapy after that delightful experience!


I'd much rather shop for regular clothes any day. You know. The items that help you cover up what you don't like, rather than forcing you to look at yourself. BLAH!


You men, if you are still reading this, have it so easy!!