Sep 4 2010

C cup

Hey Kids.

This is NOT a test.

I have always prided myself on my modest chest size, and when I say “modest chest” I mean my flat as a board A cups perched on my front side.

Pros:  No sagging, can wear flapper outfits properly, running is comfortable.

Cons: It’s hard to get a bartender’s attention, men look at me in the face when I speak, finding sexy underwear is a demoralizing task.

The ladder of the cons is why I rarely go shopping for lingerie.  Despite my small boob sureness, finding a proper bra is an embarrassing chore.  But after a recent harsh machine wash of my unmentionables (seriously, who really has the patience to hand wash them every time?) and a quickly approaching 3rd date…figured it was time to bite the bullet.

Shopping for these things never happens organically.  On this particular day I was at Nordstroms checking out the latest fall imports when I forced myself to detour to the Cosabella display. I could see the commission hopefuls circling me, but I was determined to grab a few promising lacy things and jet before any of them got into my kill zone.  I was home free until…

“When was the last time you were measured?”

I jumped a couple feet and turned towards the smarmy sound to find the shortest little gray haired woman I’d ever seen in my life. SNEAKY OLD LADY!

“Erm.  2 years ago,” I fibbed.  That sounded like a good amount of time.  Long enough ago to not be held accountable, but close enough to look responsible.
“Oh well your bra size can change every 6 months.  You should check it more frequently”  I check for breast cancer less frequently thank you.
“I’m good. Been a 34A my whole life. No need to further humiliate myself by having you confirm it once more.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d really like to fit you. I’m trying to get my bra sizing certificate.”

What the frack? You can get certified for that shit? I have a dozen frat guys who’d be certified PHDs in the subject if this were true. She looked sweet and pathetic, though…like this job was her only respite from being confined to the couch and daytime television.  I realized I hadn’t tipped my barista the last 3 times I got a latte and was due a good deed, so I said…

“Fine.”
She looked like a little girl on Christmas morning. “Oh Super!”

She then got very still, squinted her eyes, and calmly stared at my chest for a good 30 seconds. It was weird. Jolting out of her trance she announced the diagnosis….

“32C!” Poor thing, she was retarded.
“Oh, ha! You’re, seriously. Thank you, but absolutely not.”
“You may not believe me,” she was right, I didn’t “but I really think you are. In fact, I’m almost positive of it. Let me take you back for a fitting…”

She lead me to the dressing rooms, picking up some hideous looking nude things on the way back.

When we got to the dressing room I de-robed…a little concerned to be in close quarters with this handicapped woman, but my good deed wouldn’t count if I bolted. She handed me the ugliest bra I’d ever seen to try on. Great, she was retarded AND had bad taste.

“Yeeeeaaah….this isn’t really my style.”
“Oh, no honey. This is a sizing bra. It’s a 32 C. Just try it. I think you’ll be surprised. I’m Fee by the way!”
“Oooooooookay Fee!”

I was getting kinda pissed at her and her “trust me” persona. I angrily put on the hideous flesh toned number, determined to get this over with. As soon as the clasp clicked around my chest Fee began adjusting the bra straps…like that was gonna help. I was getting more and more mortified and then suddenly she announced…

“THERE! See, I told you. Perfect 32C.”
I looked up in the mirror prepared to be horrified and…holy handbag. There were my former mosquito bites resting plumply in the ugly bra.

“Fuck me!…sorry for the language, but. Is this a special bra are something? I can barely fill a B, let alone a C.”
“I assure you.  It’s a C. I think you’ve been compensating for your cup size with your chest size. You’re a 32 not a 34. Your breast have a wider surface spread which may make them appear less concentrated, but they’re actually quite full.”

She was Rain Man, but instead of cards it was boobs!

“Can I get my manager to double check the fit?” She asked
“By all means!” Could use a second opinion.

The manager came in and confirmed the fit. CRAZY. Either these Nordstrom peeps were conspiring against me, or I was actually a C. I still needed further proof.

“Lets try on some regular bras now. Something a little racier than this, perhaps?”
“Of course dear!”

Fee brought in bra after bra: satin, demi, sheer, opaque, they all fit. I was in shock. I picked out two Calvins and some matching undies then headed to the cash register.

“I think you picked out some lovely lingerie,” Fee said.
“I’m still astounded that I can wear lingerie…maybe I’m fatter?”
“Weight gain CAN have an effect on cup size. So can stress or a new medication.”
“Whelp, I’m not on the pill….”

Then suddenly, things started coming together. I have bad stomach problems and recently started taking a compound medicine for it. I remember reading that one of it’s side effects was increasing milk production and the FDA had banned it in the US because of it. Dude…my boobs were acting like I’d just had a baby! I’d actually found a pill to make my boobs bigger. Granted I may start leaking at any moment, but small price to pay. I’d finally entered womanhood with the help of science. No wonder the FDA had banned this medication, if word got out it could cause a revolution.

I gave Fee a knowing smile, threw in a few more thongs, and swiped my credit card.  I had to get home and order more of those wonder pills from Canada.

“Come visit again!” Fee chirped at me.

With these new puppies.  I felt confident I would.

BURRITO


Sep 4 2010

I need a stiff bagel

Hey Kids.

Some people need a drink after an intense experience.  I need a bagel.

The crazy thing is, the calories are about the same…at least with the way I pour a cocktail.

Sober and full of carbs,
BURRITO