Earlier this year my favorite bra, from a company who recently closed, died a rather mortifying death. The underwire popped up from the boob valley, sticking out of my cleavage while having dinner with friends. My second favorite died about a month ago, by also snapping in half and cutting me.
Basically, I’m having a really crappy bra year.
Can We All Just Agree That Bras Are The Worst?
Today I was doing my normal thing, writing all the books when…I dropped my pen. Ug. Fine.
I bend over.
SNAP.
I froze.
What. Was. That?
I knew. But I was in denial.
It couldn’t be. Not again. NO.
The underwire in my bra…snapped. In half. I have one boob held up and the other screaming yippie yi yay as it dives off my rib cage.
Ug.
And yes, I said again.
If you’re anything like me, you really do not want to go bra shopping. For one, I’m a weird size. I’ve been in stores where they tell me to my face that bras do not come in my size. Yeah. That’s awesome.
And here’s the thing about bras, mostly for those of us in the US. Sizes are not universal. A 40D in one brand is not the same as a 40D in another brand. Also, how many of us want to go to a store and have some random person use a tape measure on your sensitive girly bits. First, that’s pretty personal. Second, I’m not sure I want to know those numbers, thank you very much.
The advice out there for determining your size sounds like the ritual involved in summoning a being from another dimension. Using a freshly cut tape, bend forward at ninty degrees, say a Hail Mary and wiggle your nose while reciting Mary Had A Little Lamb.
Geeze. Is there something that’s more convoluted than figuring out a bra size?
Why is it so complicated?
Let’s say that women are 50% of the population. For such a large swath of humanity, shouldn’t something as crucial as a bra be standard? Yes, there are standard sizing but not everyone uses it.
So this weekend I’m going to go bra shopping. Wish me luck. Is there a bra or a company that’s really shown you great quality?
