Yes fellas, it’s a boob post.  Carry on.

{I want to take a moment here to tell you that I have two MIL’s- just so there is NO confusion for anyone.  One is the mother of my husband.  One is his step-mother.  His step-mom, in addition to being my MIL, has become my very dear friend and my mom-in-town, since mine is far away.  I will, from now on, call her my MILK.  Because her last name starts with a K. Not because she’s lactating.  Or lactose intolerant.  Oh Lord, this isn’t going well.}

So every year on my birthday my MILK {that just seems awkward now.} takes me on a little shopping trip for some new bras.  It is glorious.  I’ve heard you’re supposed to shop for new bras every three months.  That. Is. Redonkulous.  Who in the world can afford bras every three months? If I replaced my bras quarterly there would be a Spandex shortage in North America.

Anywho… my MILK and I were out shopping it up looking for brassieres this weekend and having a fun ol’ time.  For the first time in a while I don’t have to get a fitting.  A few years running there, I was either just finishing nursing babies or losing weight or gaining weight or whatever else causes your boobs to change size and shape and zip codes.  I have to say, I freaking hate getting bra fittings.  I’m not a fan of another woman with icy cold hands feeling me up while I try to wrangle a bra under fluorescent lighting.  None of that is remotely appealing to me.  So I was happy for no fitting.  I got a new bra this summer, I know what size it is and it still fits fine.  Even if it was cheap.

But then I start trying bras in that size.  And things aren’t working out.  I’m smooshed and coming out of places I shouldn’t be and things are just wrong.  SO I call the bra lady in, tell her I need new sizes and hope to god she doesn’t start rooting around in there trying to find the problem.  I just tell her I’m smooshed and need her to bring in the triples.  Poop.  I thought I was going to be a double.  I just want to be a double, dammit!  Sensing my disappointment, she brings me in a bigger band size so I can stay a double.  Fine.

NOT FINE.  {More on that later.}

So two doors down my MILK starts asking me what’s going on.  Oh, I just have to go to a different size I say.  “What size?”  {Keep in mind, we are in a packed dressing area on a busy shopping Saturday and she’s a full two dressing rooms away.}  “One that I don’t care to holler across the third floor,” I sarcastically respond.   All sorts of ladies giggle and think we’re cute.  Because we are.  I seriously don’t mind shouting out to the whole continental US and everywhere else that I’m a 36DDD online, but somehow I just don’t like to do it in Nordy’s.  Or wherever.  Because then when I leave the dressing room somebody is inevitably going to be checking me out to see what it looks like.  At least they will in my mind.  I’m crazy, remember.

So Jennifer or Brittany or someone who’s boobs are still looking straight ahead and not at their feet brings me my new bra.  I try it on and everything seems to be in it’s place.  So I ignore the other million bras she gave me as options and move on.  I’m ready to be done.

Then yesterday I put on one of my new bras.  And all day long I just felt a little off.  You know, when you accidentally have a pair of panties wadded up inside your jeans from the dryer and feel weird all day but don’t know why?  Then you take your pants off that night and “AHA!” that’s what it was. {Thank god it didn’t fall out when I was volunteering at the kid’s school.}  That’s how I felt.

Then when I was getting ready to unhook my bra and Houdini out of it for late night TV watching on the couch, I looked down and saw them.  It’s like they’re both trying to run and hide in my armpits.  And they look a little coney island or something.  The boobages? They are NOT right in these bras.  I ask Jimmie and he says, “yah. they are a little weird.”

So FANTASTIC.  Now I have to return bras and let some cold handed lady feel me up.  I hope she’s 72 and wrinkly.  Because when we’re both standing there comparing who’s boobs are going to win the downhill derby, I want it to be hers.


10 thoughts on “bralapalooza

  1. Did they per chance sell you a minimizer bra? Because that’s what they do. Try and squish your boobs under your armpits so there will be less of them. I do not care for them. And if it makes you feel any better my bra cup size is so large they do not sell them in stores.

  2. I can’t believe it took me a whole day to stop by and comment on a post about boobs. I mean, I LOVE boobs! It’s really the only part that actually does anything for me. I have no idea why you’re trying to minimize. I think you should wear shirts with giant bullseyes, bright orange cones, etc. Get those sisters out there loud and proud!

  3. Can you just see me showing up to a PTA event wearing a shirt with huge bullseyes on mah boobies? They would STONE me. It’d be awesome! I’m going to put that shirt on my Christmas list.

    I’m not sure how I feel about a gay man that loves boobs. This totally changes things for me. For one thing, we can never go bra shopping together. hm.

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