Before I share my afternoon with you, it's important to make it clear that I hate shopping for clothes, shoes, anything that might possibly land me in a mall. In fact, I'm not generally a big fan of shopping as a recreational activity in any way shape or form (yarn stores, indie bookstores, and funky thrift stores being the exceptions). Usually, it's more of a necessary evil, to be eased by the judicious consumption of gin. Or tequila.
Finding (much-needed) new footwear and a new summer top the other day was thus quite an accomplishment for me. But the new summer top highlighted another need I've been trying not to think about for some time: a new bra.
I hate the damned things anyway, first thing I do when I get home is take it off, already. I've managed to get by for quite some time on a couple of light-support "sports" bras (though they'd really only be good for yoga, nothing with any kind of impact!). But as much as I wanted to deny it, it was past time. Ugh.
I decided that today was the day to get it over with. I fortified myself with coffee, put on my snazzy new sandals for a self-esteem boost, tried to remember everything I ever read in O about proper bra sizing, and I headed down to Sears.
Where I spent two hours trying on a million different damned rickin-frackin' bras. Trying to find something without scratchy lace or pokey underwires or of the "push-up" variety that would shove my bosom up around my throat and choke me. Something simple, practical, that didn't feel or look like a straitjacket. After all that, I found one single, solitary style that I could imagine wearing for more than 90 seconds. One. Needless to say, it came home with me.
And I have to say, after years of those not-so-great sports bras, and the cumulative effects of gravity....put my gals in a well-fitting bra, and my word! They're so perky! It's kind of funny. I keep looking down and - whoa! Where did those come from?! I'm feeling quite pleased with myself.
(Mr.Q, in his infinite wisdom and sensitivity, commented: "You'd better be careful, you might put somebody's eye out with those things." Stinker.)