It’s another personalizing your theme day on the Zero to Hero challenge. I’ve already changed the color of my blog 3 times in the past 8 days, and the 3 themes that I had narrowed it down to this morning, have long been forgotten as I, within the past 2 hours, have fallen madly in love with three other themes to change to once this theme expires in less than 2 weeks. I’ve decided in the meantime, to regale you with the last time I went bra shopping. Yes folks…boobies.
Last summer, while doing my annual bra shop at Victoria’s Secret on a visit stateside….
You know what?
Forget it..I’ve now grown tired of those other themes. They mean nothing to me. Tomorrow I will try all of the themes again with every single color variation possible.
These tasks are a daily reminder that I have a hard time committing to things. Forget the double D’s. Forget boobies and Victoria’s Secret and two girls in one dressing room….
On to the boobies. Where was I?
You see, there is no Victoria’s Secret in Europe..well, not really. One just opened at Stockholm Arlanda airport, but only perfumes and panties, so boo for no boobies. Their bras really are the best. Can I get an AMEN from the ladies out there? Or at least a head nodding, and a “yeah, they’re not so bad”. Either one will work.
Anyway, when I go back home to the states, there are several things I stock up on. Crest super mega whitening toothpaste, Secret Prescription Strength Deodorant (in blue flavor), at least $500 worth of Sephora products, 5 gum (also blue and holy crap their webpage is like a movie!), Febreze (for the safety of my fencing instructor and I… our gear stinks), Converse, Apple products, Flyers stuff, and Victoria’s Secret Bras.
**You didn’t think i’d actually link to all those products, to their real pages did you? I feel sorry for you, then.***
So this one July day, I go to the local mall and hit the Victoria’s Secret. Within seconds, there’s a girl. A girl with a tape measure.
“Have you been measured recently?”
“No, but I’m good. I know what I need.”
“Are you sure? It’s really important to get measured every year to make sure that you’re wearing the right size.”
At this point I kind of want to pick her up and throw her into the Pink! panties display, but I refrain. I’m pretty petite, but this girl can’t weigh more than 39 lbs (18 kg) soaking wet and is about the size of a large 8-year-old boy. I love enthusiastic staff, but I don’t like how excited she is with that tape measure.
“No, seriously, I’m good. I’ve been the same size for a while now. I’m going over here now. Can you please not come?”
“Hahahahahaha!!! You’re soooo funny. Oh my god, seriously, hahahaha! But for realz, let me just measure you. You don’t have to take anything off, I’ll just measure on top of your shirt.”
“If I let you measure me, do you promise to never ask me if you can measure me again, and consider going to college and becoming a productive part of society?”
“HAHAHAHA! Seriously girlfriend, you are so freaking funny! Oh my god…seriously! (pretending to laugh so hard to wipe fake non-existent tears away) ohhhhhhhh…..seriously…. but for realz…yes, yes, yes… I seriously won’t bother you anymore, but seriously, let’s pick you out a bra and get you in a room and measured!”
Ahh, the old psyching me out with too many adverbs routine. Touché.
She starts showing me all of the different new bras they have and all of their “features”. It’s hard to sell a bra on the “features”. It’s not like there’s GPS built-in or rear ass defrosters, or retina recognition. Although if there were, it would be an easy sell. GPS bras? Hello!
I decided to bite and let her pick out her favorites for me.
With some bras in tow, it’s off to the fitting rooms we went, as she had me in the grips of her measuring tape lasso.
It was time for her to let her boob measuring skills shine. She was smiling from ear to ear. I can’t imagine ever being this excited measuring boobs all day. Granted, I am a straight woman but even as a straight woman, if I had to measure men’s packages for cup sizing over their jeans all day, let’s just say I’d be less than thrilled with the choices I had made in life.
“What size did you think you were?”
“I know I‘m a size 36 B.”
“Well, I am very happy to tell you, that you are a 30 D!”
Let me explain a couple of things to my male audience who may not understand the information I had just been given. Essentially, what I was being told, was that I was actually 2 whole cup sizes (inches) bigger and that I was 6 inches smaller around the band line.
“That’s not right. There is no possible way I am a D cup. I have friends who wear a D cup… I am not a D cup.”
“Honey, I’m a DD!”
My jaw literally hit the floor like a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
“No. No, you’re not.”
“Yup! I’m a 30 DD.”
So what she was telling me with her 8-year-old boy body (which is fine, I’m not judging, I’m just comparing) was that she weighed as much as one of my legs and was a double D, and also, that we were the same size around the top.
“I need you to leave this dressing room.”
“Should I bring you in the bras we looked….”
“I need you to leave this room. Now.”
She was confused, but she left.
I was flabbergasted. I got in the car and drove to two different malls that had two different Victoria’s Secrets.
First one…. Bingo. Chick with a measuring tape.
“Hi! Welcome to Victoria’s Secret! Would you like me to….”
I just grabbed her arm and brought her to the fitting rooms.
“Umm…ok..have you been measured before?”
“Yes… I need you to measure me.”
Same procedure of measuring.
“Well it looks like you’re a 32 DD!”
Impossible… how had I grown 2 inches around and out since the last Victoria’s Secret fitting 20 minutes ago?
“Would you like me to get some bras for you to try on in your size?” I heard her say as her voice faded in the distance. I was already out of there.
On to the next Victoria’s Secret.
“Well, it looks like you’re a 34 D”.
What the f*#k.
“Give me some bras.”
“Ok, what size?”
“All of them. All of the D’s and DD’s you have.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t under….”
“Just get me a selection of D and double D cups in various sizes.” “Please”.
As I waited for her to get me the bras, I looked around at the other women in the fitting room.
“What size are you?” I asked a random stranger.
She wasn’t surprised by the question at all. Just shocked.
“They just told me I’m a D…..”
I didn’t wait for her to finish. I just ran over and gave her a hug.
“I know…they told me the same thing. But we’re not. We’re not Double D’s” (not that there’s anything wrong with that).
I continued… “We’re just two women who got lost in a land where women think they need to be double D’s, so they are told that they are, even when they’re not. Do you understand? Don’t you see what’s happening???”
“Please get off me or I will call mall security.”
It turns out, she looked surprised because she just got a phone call saying she had been made Dean of her school.
I walked out of the store. There were a lot of emotions… anger, sadness, confusion, and hunger. I stopped at Auntie Anne’s and got back in my car. I turned on “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” from Poison. It’s my go-to-driving-while-perplexed-theme song. And as Brett Michaels sang, “Just like every cowboy, sings a sad, sad song”, I realized he was right. Maybe, it was ok to be a Victoria’s Secret size D, or DD. Maybe, just maybe, in Victoria’s Secret land, I was built like Jessica Rabbit. And she’s a pretty hot cartoon. Damnit Brett, you’re right. I knew what Brett and I needed to do.
I went back to the first Victoria’s Secret and found my 8 year old boy sales woman. I grabbed her and exclaimed,
“Get me all the size D bras you can find! Let’s do this shit! Hell yeah!”
I was then escorted out of the store.