My Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard

My younger sister wore a darling strapless dress to Girl-Child's preschool graduation and I lamented to Mr. Farklepants how I wished I were able to wear the same. He didn't understand why I couldn't so I explained that that style dress pushes the girls too far south on a woman my age. Not enough perk to keep things where they should be. "Can't you just wear a strapless bra with it?" he asked. After a good natured laugh at his expense because, I mean, he doesn't know.I explained some more about how no woman wears one of those unless they are forced to because it is the most uncomfortable article of clothing ever invented [that is still in use since nothing will ever beat the corset/girdle EVER which is now referred to as SPANX]. Strapless come in three sizes: Those that slip, those that strangle, and those that do both. To him I said, "It's clear you've never had to wear one of those torture devices".

Which leads me to this...I need new bras. And, God help me, how I hate shopping for them. Victoria's Secret used to make the perfect bra for me. I didn't even have to try them on after the initial first time we met and totally did it in the changing room. I could just order them online when the time came to replace them. But, just as with anything that works and is popular, and that I like they were discontinued. And I've yet to find a suitable replacement. I just make due. I'm a grown woman. I know what I like. And, contrary to what that saleslady wielding the boobie tape measure believes, I know my bra size. I'm a 34C. She insists that I'm a 32D. I insist that she is mistaken. Because TWICE I have buckled under the strain of an overzealous sales clerk and bought the 32D [apparently the cup sizes are equivilent in this scenario so don't be impressed]. Both times I ended up returning them. One of those was a Wacoal from Macys which I bought from a very large, boisterous woman who spoke with a thick Russian accent that I was too much of a wuss to disagree with. She was scary. She was like the Italian grandmother who insisted you were too thin and kept piling linguine on your plate and kept a close eye on you as you forced it down. - only this time there was nudity from the waist up and moderate humiliation- When I told this woman -who stood outside my dressing room and demanded to see it once it was on- that it seemed a bit snug; she persisted that was how it was supposed to fit. Then there I was, one day and sixty dollars later [a bra that expensive should come with its own set of tits, by the way] out running errands, my breasts trapped in my new bra, and going home as soon as possible because I COULDN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT MY BRA AND MY DISCOMFORT -I'm pretty sure it had teeth and was eating my flesh. If you're that aware of your undergarments then they don't fit. Period. I couldn't breath. In a sitting position my ribs and internal organs were being crushed. I was probably bleeding out. I was being strangled and when I removed it I could see the outline of it. It was like I was still wearing some kind of Wonder Woman invisible bra.

My current daily bras have become exhausted what with all of the stretching and worn outed-ness. They've exceeded their shelf life. I'm adamant about my support. I even wear them to bed because I just hate it when a renegade boob gets stuck in my armpit. I mean, who doesn't? And if you don't? Do not be jealous. Because girls like me? Getting cleavage wrinkles. Should we discuss how very sexy that is? I didn't think so. Keep your perky chest to yourselves. - And I need to find a couple of hours to myself to run out and do the bra shopping. My boys are too old to come with me [and there would be all of that scarring and therapy] and Girl-Child risks blunt head trauma when I start throwing haymakers after the 750th discarded garment. It also couldn't hurt to get a little drunk first. And follow Suburbancorrespondent's advice.