fit but you know it

Reading another blogger's hilarious post "not to be judged by my bra size" reminded me that I had a bra fitting this weekend at Nordstrom's. If you ever want an abject lesson in humiliation, I would recommend a bra fitting. The first clerk I asked for help stunned me when she looked at me and suggested a cup size; I won't even say it here because it makes me cringe just thinking about it. Then I ended up being helped by another young lady, who was actually really nice. Since I was looking for a strapless, which for the busty gal is like searching for the Holy Grail of bras, I knew I was in for a long day. And as it turns out, like most women, I am wearing the wrong bra size. At least that's what the clerk said as she poked at my boobs and said things like, "See all this tissue here, you need more support for it." Then we talked about the relative advantages and disadvantages of boob size and this is definitely a grass is greener situation. So in the end I tried on a billion bras, had a sales clerk get to second base with me, and surprisingly I found a strapless bustier for less than the price of a new Buick. I'm starting to feel like my boobs have a life of their own and the rest of my body is just a life support machine for them.