Hell is Spelled B-R-A S-H-O-P-P-I-N-G
Last week I had not one, not two, but THREE people tell me that my chest was sagging. The first was my mom. She is always telling me true things about myself that I would rather not know so I blew her off. The second person was my very open with her opinions sister in law. I started to blow her off too. But then my other sister in law nodded in polite agreement.
It was official. My grayish, old, oops I put it in the dryer that eats clothes, yucky bra was no longer functional. Three loved ones had not so politely informed me that it wasn't working for me and I kind of looked like I wasn't even wearing a bra at all.
So, this morning, after dropping the son off at school, I head to Kohl's. Did you know that Kohl's is open at 8am? They must like the mom crowd.
Of course I go with all three of my girls, ages 1, 3, and 5 (almost). I get a cart. I put the two year old in the cart. I was dumb enough to not bring the carrier for the baby. (I thought this would be a "quick" trip.) So I am carrying baby on my hip.
I discover that some very smart marketing guru somewhere knows what is on my mind.
These words jump out and me:
"High-beams are for cars" (That is just funny. Mostly I am just worried that IF I have high beams that they are both facing forward.)
AHA! This is good! I must not be the only lady with banana boobs who would like to roll them into a silky cup and make them touch my chin! Things are looking up!!!! All these pregnancies won't get me down!
I throw a dozen colorful picks into the cart. SOMETHING will work! I can FEEL IT!
The dressing room calls.
(I am going to leave out the part where the three year old crawls under the door, the baby crawls after her, and the 5 year old keeps trying to open the door ALL while I am topless. I wouldn't want you to think I am whining.)
One after another I try them on.
"Mommy, does that fit?" innocently asks my daughter.
No. No. And no. No. No. No.
I, a 32 year old woman who recently had an unassisted birth in her bedroom and has spent over five years of her life breastfeeding and has taught literally DOZENS of people the basics of natural birth, DOES NOT EVEN KNOW HER OWN BODY WELL ENOUGH TO PICK A BRA THAT FITS.
I actually have no idea what size I am.
Either that or NO bra fits and bra designs are simply a ploy by the plastic surgery industry to make me feel bad about myself and get a surgical lift.
Once it has been decided that I am getting the wrong SIZE (how can I be two cup sizes bigger than I thought I was? How does that happen?) it is everlastingly too late.
Chaos has erupted with the children. The teenage personnel at Kohl's is wondering why these kids are running free. I must leave. No more time to pick another dozen and hope for the best.
My spirits are dampened. I will return to fight another day. Next time I will go by myself.
The upside is I have been able to feed four babies. Plus, I can hide a gun without a holster.