We've talked about this repeatedly. I am not a skinny woman; to the contrary, I am an obese fashionless manatee. With this station in life, I am burdened with a baby manatee sized bosom.
Once upon a time, I was a happy woman with B-cups. They were perky as can be and I loved them. Annoyingly, they worked their way up to a C. I dealt with it. 34 C. That's average. I could cope. I coped when I moved into a 36 C. But my fourth and fifth puberty came and I ignored it. In fact, even though the bras no longer fit, I've been wearing the same 36 Cs for quite some time. They just sort of stretched as I needed them to.
Except recently, they stopped stretching. Honestly, it looks like I am wearing a string bikini instead of a bra. You know, triangles. Except the obese fashionless manatee is no Kat Murello and should not be wearing a string bikini. That just meant that I had boob containment issues galore. I had quad boobs, back boob spills, side boobs that went on for miles. All because I wouldn't go buy new bras.
Because I am going to Blogher this week, I knew it was the proper time to break down and go to the store for new bras. (Note: One of the other reasons I delayed this is because I hate spending money on new bras. I would rather KILL DISCOVER.)
On Saturday, I went to Macy*s. I gathered my courage and a handful of bras and went to the fitting room. It seems that I was not a D. This was a concern. Scary territory lays beyond the D. I left the dressing room to gather more samples. As I went back to the dressing room, a woman named Pauline stopped me and asked me if I needed help.
"Yes! I need help. I really need to be measured. I don't know what size I need."
"Do you need to be fitted?"
"Uh, I guess. I need to be measured."
"Okay, come in here." [Opens dressing room door. No sign of tape measure.]
"What do I do?"
"Take your shirt off."
[Bold. But I obeyed.]
"WHAT SIZE ARE YOU WEARING? YOU ARE NOT WEARING THE RIGHT SIZE? THAT HAS TO HURT? OH MY GOD. WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO YOURSELF?"
"Okay, I know it is the wrong size. That's why I want you to measure me so I know the right size."
"Now take off your bra."
[Eyes widen. Obey again. She's an older woman with a New York accent. I'm not going to say no.]
"This is a C. Are you crazy? [looks me up and down.] You're a DD. What kind of bras do you like? [I describe my preferences.] I'm going to check my inventory and I'll be back."
She leaves and I am sitting there with no shirt or bra on. I don't know the etiquette of this situation. Do I continue to sit there with no shirt or bra on? I finally decide to put my shirt on, sans bra. I am super thankful that I didn't wear a dress, or this would be beyond humiliating. I'm then super thankful I put my shirt on because she doesn't knock. She comes back with a bra that is quite lovely except that it can fit a small village inside of it.
"Okay, bend over. Now, I need you to reach in and pull up each of your breasts and place it into the cup. Is this how you normally put your bra on?"
"No." [Never in my life has an older woman from New York made me bend over, and then separately lift up each boobie into each cup. I can say with authority that this is NOT how I put my bra on normally.]
"Most women don't. You have to make sure you bend over and lift up each breast and place it into the cup every day. That is key to getting a good fit." [Looks me over again.] "Honey, I was wrong, you're a DDD. You're left boob is bigger than the right. [She sees that I am growing faint...] Don't worry. Everyone woman has one that is bigger than the other, but you have to buy for the bigger one. I don't have a lot in that size. Let me see what I can do."
Off she goes again. I begin using my phone and BBM'ing the world that my boobs have reached monument status and she comes back. Different brand and different band size. The DD fits.
She made me try on three in the same fashion as before. Bend, she puts on the bra, lift into place.
HOLY SHIT! ALL OF MY EXTRA BOOBS ARE GONE. THEY ARE ALL CONTAINED IN ONE BRA. Pauline is some type of genius at boobie containment! She is my HERO. (Although I am still incredibly uncomfortable. (We just weren't there yet.)
We gather enough to fit my needs and it's off to the cash register to buy my new bras. My new bras with the world's most enormous cups. I was giddy with delight. Mostly, it was relief that I was not a DDD. In my world, as a dedicated Food Network fan, that would make me a Diner, Drive-in or Dive. I wasn't ready to deal with that.
Later that night, I was taking the tags off so that I could throw them into the washer. Through a brief round of experiments, we learned that they are indeed large enough to fit a man as a hat. I offer you this photo as proof.
Shockingly, it does not fit me as a hat. Like my boobs, my head is too big for anything normal to fit.
My husband thought that people needed a better frame of reference to judge the giant size of my new magic undergarments. So, here is his idea. One of my pretty new bras with a penny.
I can happily report that I am deeply in love with my new bras. It's weird – when bras fit, they don't hurt. I didn't hate having it on nearly as much as I did with the old one. It's nice to not have skin oozing from strange places. I just assumed that was unavoidable because I am fat. Nope. Just needed a bra that fit.
Pauline is my newest bestie. I will now use her for every bra purchase that I make for the rest of my life. (Unless I can ever afford a reduction surgery and can afford to wear cute bras again.)
No related posts.
As someone who also thought she was a C and then went to a fancy bra store to get fitted and was told I was an E(!) (apparently, that is the equivalent of a DD at a fancy bra store), I completely understand what you went through. The bending and putting the boob in the bra has also changed my life. I still don’t understand how I’m that big as my boobs don’t look like Es (or DDs), and I was supertraumatized by being told I’m that big, but the bras fit and my boobs look good, so I guess I can’t complain.
You may no longer laugh at me and my double D boobies. Welcome to the club! And you will notice how much better your clothes fit when everything is properly contained…
D
1. My boobs are the same size as yours, Leslie? But you are 3′ taller than me…
2. Renee, you are telling me that fancy bra stores (which I’m assuming I can’t afford) have a different system that would frighten me more because I’d be a vowel)???
Going on diet. Losing weight. Paying of credit cards. Reduction if still needed after losing weight.
I can’t afford the fancy bra stores, but my mom took me and she can afford them. And yes, according to them (or at least the one I went to), there is no such thing as a DD, only an E.
Calm down… I’m a 38DD. So my boobs could still trounce your boobs in a fight.
Ummm, You know I’ve been a DD for years, right? I love it. I love having big boobs. Is that too much information for this forum? I’d have bigger boobs if I could. It has to be easier to get bigger boobs than to get rid of this gut. I know this, because I have been trying to get rid of this gut for years….
So, my rack is now comparable to the finest rack in all of the land? The rack of Kamira. Dude. It is going to take a while for this to sink in.
I’m howling with laughter– mostly because I’m barely a B cup, and someone LIED to me and told me they’d grow they breastfeeding my children. They didn’t. They SHRANK. There is something wrong in that my belly is larger than my boobs,and well, my belly is slowly shrinking but SO ARE MY BOOBS. Not fair. Not fair at all.