To All of My Gentlemen Readers:
Note: I do not mean to intentionally be exclusionary, but as I am a woman there will be times when I am blogging strictly for women about women things. You are welcome to read these blogs if you dare, but consider yourself forewarned that they may include woman things like PMS and Bra Shopping and any other woman things that you may just not need or want to read about or know about me (if you know me personally). This is one such post. Further Scrolling implies your adherance to the terms and conditions stated above.
OK. I think that covers about the scope of it.
Let me do something you’re supposed to never do and start my post with a question: How many of you ladies lie about your bra size?
I know I do.
I guess it’s just the stage I’m at in life right now, but I’m like extra reflective. This morning I was getting ready for work, and I have a full length mirror propped up against my wall (Propped against as opposed to hanging from I have issues with hanging things that need to be hung properly so most things that can’t be supported with tape are leaning on the wall instead of hanging from said wall).
Anyway, I have a full-length mirror propped up against my wall and I was doing my normal morning getting ready routine of checking myself out each time I put on a new clothing item (you know, checking to see how this or that fits, checking to make sure that nothing’s sticking out more than it was, checking to see what looks tighter or looser, checking to see how different angles affect the appearance of tightness or loosness), when I got to my bra.
…and see, bras are a touchy thing for me (no pun intended). Bra shopping is difficult for me because my ego absolutely will not allow me to buy the right size bra. It’s almost like shoe shopping–in my mind, I know logically I wear an 8 in shoes. And so it makes sense that I should buy that 8. And really, when I buy heels, especially the sky high 5-inch heels that I like to rock, I really should be buying an 8.5.
But if there is a 7.5 I will buy that bad boy and suffer because I firmly, firmly believe that I am cuter in a 7 and a half than I am in an 8.
My ankles be screamin tho.
It’s sort of the reverse with bras.
The reason I was reflecting this morning because I was looking at myself in my bra thinkin “Dang I look good in this bra,” which honestly doesn’t often happen because I don’t usually fill my bras out very well.
See, my fragile ego demands that I buy only C-cups.
….but…gun to my head…I’d say I could probably fit into a B-cup nicely, depending on the measure of the band (36 versus 34).
But I refuse. I refuse to buy anything lower than a C-cup.
See, I was a precocious (GRE VOCAB!) child, and the one thing I wanted more than anything else when I was a little girl was boobs. I remember being 8 years old and begging my mother to buy me a training bra. And then when she finally did, I wore that one training bra like every day and I would look down my own shirt every chance I could, including in public places and situations, like standing in line for the bathroom at school, to monitor the progress of the growth of my boobs.
Alas, because it was my No. 1 desire, I did not get decent-sized breasts until I was like 17. And when I got them, they like swelled up overnight and for a good six months to a year of my life I was part of that glorious category of “big-busted” women–I was a full and cup-runneth-over-type C-cup.
But I must have lost weight because by the time I was 20 my cup went from running over to being half-full, if you’re an optimist.
And this is something I simply refuse to accept, but you can’t exactly not see that you don’t fill out your bra so this morning I was really admiring the fact that my 34-C cup was nicely filled (except for at the veeery veeerrrry top, which could be adjusted by pulling the straps tighter and closer to my neck).
And I kinda half-smiled, thinking that it’s the million teeny adjustments we do that hold the key to self-acceptance. You know? The things that are so small that they are seamlessly ingrained into our daily routines–tiny actions every day that are meant to make up for these perceived imperfections that, really, only we’re aware of. Like lash-thickening mascara. Who the hell notices or cares about another person’s thin eyelashes?
Anyway, it just occurred to me that October is Breast Cancer awareness month, so I figured I should mention that in my post about breasts. Much support and solidarity to those who are fighting the good fight, who are no longer fighting and to those with loved ones who have breast cancer.
Gosh dangit, I cannot get a frickin post to be fewer than 800 words lately. Again, apologies.
- Recycle Your Bra For Breast Cancer, Domestic Violence Awareness (earth911.com)
- 4 Bra-Shopping Rules To Follow (hellobeautiful.com)
- How to Find the Right Bra (bettyconfidential.com)