2 B's or not 2 D's

As I weeded out my summer clothes last week, I noticed a trend. I had a few brand new white shirts that had never been worn. My instincts told me that if they had not been worn for an entire season, they should be donated. The problem was that I really liked the shirts, and remembered feeling joy when the purchases were made. Suddenly the reason for their neglect hit me. Perhaps you remember this...

No? This is my best fitting bra. As you can see, not terribly conducive to fabulous white t-shirts. Mind you "best fitting" might be a bit misleading, as it does not necessarily mean it fits well, just better than the rest of the collection. If you need (ok, want) a glimpse at some of my bra shopping endeavors, check here or here.

Yes, I have met disappointment in the lingerie department on numerous occasions, but then I heard of a place...a marvelous place. The wizardesses at Soma possessed a knowledge of tape measure reading and magical cup size formulas that could change my life. (That may not be exactly what I was told, but it is fairly close to what my desperate mind heard.) They were conjuring up sizes never before dreamt of. Someday that adventure was going to be mine. I held that vision as a treat for myself when the kids went back to school, and I had free time to get lost in a fitting room that knew how to care for me and my girls. Lofty ambitions, I know. Somehow I got busy cleaning junk drawers and the like during the month of September, and forgot about my mission, until I saw that little pile of unworn shirts.

As I approached the Soma storefront, I almost let myself be intimidated by the bright and shiny. I took a deep breath and walked in. I was the only customer in the store, and my presence snapped the saleswoman into action as she ended her personal phonecall. I told her I was interested in a bra that actually fit properly. I expected rainbows of measuring tape and some comfy bath robe, maybe a speck of tea. I saw the price tags, there had to be something wondrous in store for me. The first fantastic piece of information I received was that I had grown two inches around my rib cage since my last bra fitting. Then I was told that I was a B. Now maybe the fabulous fitters had some new system I was unaccustomed to, so the DD's and I played along. I was already wearing a bra that only sort of fit, so who was I to doubt what the nice young lady was telling me.

I followed close behind her as she led me to the promised land wall of bras. She started handing me some B's, with a couple of D's thrown in just to humor me I guess. As I held one of the espresso cups up to my grandes, she whipped all of the B's away and piled on some more D's. She told me her name in case I needed her, as she left me in the fitting room with so much satin. 

"Um, Erica? This doesn't fit."

The two of us stood there together pondering what we saw in the mirror. Gaps in the wrong places, overflow in the wrong places (as if there was a right place for such). She offered to get a DD, but then I mentioned that the gaps would just be gappier. Time to try another style.

"Um, Erica?"
"No, that is not how that is supposed to fit."

Again, we both were baffled by the disconnect between the magical measuring tape and my inability to actually fit in a bra. She brought me one other bra to try and I told her that if she came back and found me crouched on the floor crying, she'd know what had happened.

"Erica?"

We stood staring into the mirror, as I questioned the fit and commented on just what should be tucked in. Erica told me to put on the tank top that was hanging in the fitting room to give an idea of how things would actually look since I was intending to wear clothes. She might have made a small mistake when she mentioned how the bra was "smoothing out my back"...um, I was not concerned about back fat when I walked in. Brilliant sales technique, Erica. I asked Erica to go get my friend who I was shopping with for some sort of consultation. Basically I just wanted her to marvel over how I am able to stand erect based on the visual of the crazy bra with a too small tank top. 

The bra was kind of complicated to hook, but who doesn't like that kind of aggravation adventure getting dressed in the dark at six a.m.?

I just had too much invested to walk away. Too much hope. Without a spring in my step I proceeded to the check out. I checked with Erica to confirm that I had tried on all styles that fit my specifications. My friends shouted over "What about the Minimizer?" By then the store manager had appeared, and added her two cents, "Uh, I recommend those for smaller sized women." I looked at her and asked her to excuse me for a moment.

I turned towards my friends, "Hey, brace yourselves for this one...that bra is for smaller women. The MINIMIZER is for women with smaller chests."

"That particular style" grumbled the manager.

So for all of you small busted women who want to look smaller still, Soma has got a bra for you!

(Aaaaaaand I am returning the one I bought in my moment of joy seeking weakness.)