Hahaha...Wow:
My favorite episode of ATHF:
As for personal news, my boobs are too big. They aren't too big for my body; they suit my body quite well.
At Frederick's of Hollywood I decided it'd be best to get my breasts measured for the best possible fit. After standing around for about 10 minutes by the fitting rooms, some ditz with a name tag and a measuring tap over her shoulders finally asked me if I needed some help.
"I need to be measured, please," I told her, a little peeved.
She told me to lift my arms up, and she wrapped the tape behind my back and across my bosom.
"Uh..." she started. "34C?"
"Are you kidding me?" I asked, definitely peeved now. "I'm wearing a 38C now and I've got nipples hanging out."
A higher-up who overheard our exchange offered to measure me instead.
"34 or 36D," she told me.
I thanked her and went in search of a good, plain, white bra.
I found a bra and grabbed both sizes. Then I waited another ten minutes so the same ditz could give me a fitting room. Once inside, I stripped off a swear, my shirt, and then my black bra.
I put on the 34C. It snapped in the front, and it felt wonderful. My boobs were secure, comfortable, and supported. Then I looked in the mirror.
The underwire pushed down too hard beneath my breasts, forcing a bulge out from under it. Disgusting.
I tried the larger size. Fit fine, but not as snug. Still ugly.
I've been in denial about my breast size for quite some time now. It is difficult to find pretty, sexy bras in larger sizes. and once you do, they're more expensive. I've always thought a mid-to-high C was perfect.
My eyes became misty, and it made me wonder how many women had cried in this very fitting room. Dozens, at least.
I didn't buy the bras, of course. Why would I pay for something that I don't feel great about?
I'll look again...but not for a little while.
My favorite episode of ATHF:
As for personal news, my boobs are too big. They aren't too big for my body; they suit my body quite well.
At Frederick's of Hollywood I decided it'd be best to get my breasts measured for the best possible fit. After standing around for about 10 minutes by the fitting rooms, some ditz with a name tag and a measuring tap over her shoulders finally asked me if I needed some help.
"I need to be measured, please," I told her, a little peeved.
She told me to lift my arms up, and she wrapped the tape behind my back and across my bosom.
"Uh..." she started. "34C?"
"Are you kidding me?" I asked, definitely peeved now. "I'm wearing a 38C now and I've got nipples hanging out."
A higher-up who overheard our exchange offered to measure me instead.
"34 or 36D," she told me.
I thanked her and went in search of a good, plain, white bra.
I found a bra and grabbed both sizes. Then I waited another ten minutes so the same ditz could give me a fitting room. Once inside, I stripped off a swear, my shirt, and then my black bra.
I put on the 34C. It snapped in the front, and it felt wonderful. My boobs were secure, comfortable, and supported. Then I looked in the mirror.
The underwire pushed down too hard beneath my breasts, forcing a bulge out from under it. Disgusting.
I tried the larger size. Fit fine, but not as snug. Still ugly.
I've been in denial about my breast size for quite some time now. It is difficult to find pretty, sexy bras in larger sizes. and once you do, they're more expensive. I've always thought a mid-to-high C was perfect.
My eyes became misty, and it made me wonder how many women had cried in this very fitting room. Dozens, at least.
I didn't buy the bras, of course. Why would I pay for something that I don't feel great about?
I'll look again...but not for a little while.
VIEW 18 of 18 COMMENTS
But if you're really hurting for bras, come out my way. My dad owns a dealership.
-TM