I did not embark on this mission unarmed. I had the tag of what was proclaimed to be the finest fitting and most comfortable bra in the land, a Kohls 30% off coupon, and a good friend. Aside from a measuring tape and the secret algebraic formula for what the numbers and letters really mean (which said good friend actually explained on the way), what else could I possibly have needed? Besides a flask.
Two years ago, it was nearly impossible to find my, alleged freak of nature, size in any typical store. Well, women of the world must've united to take a stand against regular sized boobs on correctly proportioned bodies. Now there are TONS of seemingly fabulous choices in my size...oh, but they don't fit.
Finest bra in the land, and super comfy, until hooked...in all five sizes I tried. I am almost over it...almost.
Sure this one gave me an attitude, but did nothing for my ego.
I used to wonder why the pretty patterns were never on the fuller sized bras. Today I realized that those lovely designs turn a little ugly in larger swatches.
I did get frustrated, but not quite hopping mad, so this was not necessary.
I just needed to chill out. This bra would also have been perfect, if I was prone to running into walls, with its impact level 2 rating.
I was not, in fact working it, with eleven of the thirteen bras I tried on. This one seemed to be made of some sort of scuba suit fabric. Fabulous, and French...oh la la.
It was hard to remain focused on the cups without my mind wandering to tea...and muffins...mmm...muffins...good muffins...HENCE THE BAD MUFFINS!
Um, so yeah...I am sorry for the person whose ass is this close to her shoulders.
This was like the superhero section for undergarments. Nobody messes with Cheeky Control! Look how she shoots rays from her fanny!
Ladies, please just remember...
I did not come home empty handed, but fully expect to suffer some sort of wardrobe malfunction, when the strap flying frenzy of the dressing room is gone, and I am left alone...with the girls.