Tracts of Land

WARNING:  THIS POST IS ABOUT GIRLY PARTS.  SPECIFICALLY THE ONES ON TOP.


MOM AND KATHY, PLEASE GO LOOK AT QUILTS.  GRANDMA, JUST SHUT THE COMPUTER DOWN.

So.

Did you know that about 80% of brassiere wearing women are wearing the wrong size?  Are you in the 20%?  A well-fitted bra can completely change the way your clothes look and how your back feels.

But you didn't come here to listen to me talk about sensible things.  You want to hear about the tiny menopausal Latina woman who unabashedly wrestles with my Mommies every time I go to the lingerie shop.

There is a wonderful intimate apparel shop in Dallas that has been here since 1934.  They sell robes, pajamas and swimwear but mainly deal in custom fitted over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders.  My mother brought me here a few years ago after I had Sophie and everything shifted.  She recognized that I needed something a little more supportive and that I needed some expert opinions.

Now I've always been a big girl.  I don't think I ever wore a training bra.  I've always sighed wistfully at strapless dresses and matching bra and panty sets.  I once tried on a Wonderbra and nearly collapsed when all of the oxygen was cut off from my brain because my nostrils and mouth were completely covered.

I left my mother on the couch in the waiting area and went into the dressing room.  I expected the tiny woman to measure over my existing bra and then pass in some options that I would then try on and say Yea or Nay.

What happened was that tiny little woman marched over to me as I removed my shirt and just flat out grabbed me.  She began lifting and searching and pushing and squooshing and holy monkeys I really want my Mama.

"SO YOU JUS' HAD A BABY? WHADDA WE LOOKIN' AT HERE?"

Lady, I will tell you anything you want if you will just let go of my chachies and for the love of GOD close the door to the dressing room.

That woman measured me and ran off LEAVING THE DOOR WIDE OPEN STILL and I called my mommy back into the dressing room because now I was terrified.  The lady came back with a few options.  She showed me how I had been putting bras on wrong for my entire life while my mother smothered a smile and quietly closed the door.  I think she got a kick out of my dinner-plate sized eyes and how her most talkative child was finally rendered speechless.  Once she helped me into the first one ("MAKE SURE ALL OF THE GIRLS ARE IN THE CUPS!") I stood up and felt...relief.

You mean bras are supposed to be comfortable?!  What witchcraft is this?!?!

They tweaked a few more places and I left with a bag full of the first proper fitting undergarments that I have ever worn.  Granted, they cost a little more but that's because I wear sizes normally reserved for Viking women.  I go back and get wrestled and prodded but now I do it knowing I'm coming out of there more comfortable than when I went in.  It doesn't bother me as much as the first time.

I also remember to close the door.

Now will someone please go pick my mother up off of the floor so she can answer the phone when my grandmother calls and asks her why I'm talking about this on my blog?