And Here I Thought I Was Average.....

A friend unveiled recently that she thinks I have an unnatural obsession with my boobs. I'm not sure what is unnatural about it...Because isn't that like telling a guy he is unnaturally obsessed with his johnson? And isn't the the answer: "Well......YEEEAAAH."?

Said friend was with me on a boob obsessed trip to swanky mall for a strapless bra. See, I had my *ouch*-th birthday coming up and I was going to spend it in Vegas...With a bunch of girls. Which means potential for boys. Which means market the twins.

I've had the twins since twelve...And they've pretty much been this size the whole time. Not huge, but definitely not small. And on a 90 lb 12 year old, pretty whopping enormous. (That's a guess...I have no idea how much I weighed when I was 12.) So - I've been in supportive undergarments now for 28 years. Those one piece small bands of paper thin stretchy material that dinky girls wear worked maybe until maybe 15. Haven't worn a strapless top/dress/anything since.

But I'm hitting 40...Time to celebrate right? Let's bring out the strapless booby tops.

So there's this store in swanky mall that is endorsed by the annoying female half of the morning show on the beebop station. (I almost never listen...But have often enough to catch her endorsement.) Apparently these ladies know something about boobs and bras that your normal department store and Victoria's Secret do not. Friends L and K have been, and purchased, and highly approve.

So off to swanky mall for a fabulous, strapless bra. It is kind of a blur..But I'll attempt to reconstruct the story.

I am told by the girl behind the counter that I must wait for The Fitter. There is only one and she is with another customer. Okey doke...I'll browse. The Fitter becomes free and perkily engages me. I don't remember her name...But I swear it must have been Dixie or Bitsy or something similar. So Dixie/Bitsy takes me into the fitting room calling me Sugar at every chance, has me strip nekkid from the waist up (thank god I'm one of the least modest people on the planet), and proceeds to size me up. But she doesn't touch me...Or measure me with anything...She just looks at me, cocks her head this way and that, has me turn to the side, and back to the front, and perks out of the dressing room to retrieve the armor.

Dixie/Bitsy brings one back and I am thinking: HOLY HELL....Dolly Parton could wear that thing. But, alas, it seems it is too small. So she heads back out. Brings back another that leaves my mouth gaping open, and here we go with actually donning the thing.

And that, you would not believe. It takes the two of us to get into it. So first she instructs me that I must bend over so the girls are hanging as vertically as possible. Now mind you, I can pass the pencil test on a really cold day, but she insists we must bend. Then, I position each girl in place separately...Stand back up while holding the cups in place...While she wrangles seven feet of really tight elastic to get hooked. Little voice in head is saying: "How am I going to do this on my own. Must I ask friend, B, if she can help everytime I wear it?"

Now Dixie/Bitsy begins the instructional portion of the fitting. And I'm a bit concerned with a bra that needs instructions. She comes around in front of me and reaches inside right cup. "Oh Sugar....All your cleavage is in your armpits!" Um - What does THAT mean??? So she reaches all the way to my back and pulls every bit of skin into the cup. And does the same with left girl.

Dixie/Bitsy points out the latex strips around the top band that make it stick to your skin when combined with body heat. And she tells me that American women wear their bras much too loose. Apparently so....Because this thing is squeezing me like a boa constrictor.

Finally, I ask the question. "What size is this, anyway?" And her happy ass answers, "Thirty-two E." "Wait - What?" "Yes Sugar, you're petite but quite full. You're a 32E." Stunned silence....Looks of confusion. And through my head is running: "First off...I don't think anything on me...Even my waist...Is 32. And - E?? E???? as in E-nourmous? E-xtreme? E-lephant?"

Dixie/Bitsy says I look quite stunning in all my 32E glory...And that this is just the one for me. Well, she must be right...Because she is the professional. And she could size me up just by looking at me. And she knows that trick to turn back fat into boob.

So I somewhat stumble to the checkout, and purchase my $65, 32E, strapless bra.

I've not worn it once. I'll forever remain 36C in my head.