Like most moms I know, once we had children, our needs became secondary to that of our children’s. To illustrate my point, I don’t have my nails or hair done on a regular basis (even though I’d love to) because I mostly focus on school supplies, new school clothes, ProActiv solution, and a million hair care products, all for my kids. That may be why I have been wearing the wrong bra size for almost three years: not making myself a priority, which I know many moms are guilty of doing.
My daughter, Kayla, who works at Victoria Secret, coaxed my other daughter and me to the VS semi-annual sale. As I stood at the bin rifling through the sherbert colored discount bras, a young woman approached me.
“Have you had your bra measurements checked recently?” I thought to myself: was it that obvious that I had not?
“Not since the 7th grade,” I responded. She seemed unaffected by my attempt at humor.
“Do you know what size you are wearing?” she continuted.
“A 36 C,” I told her. Suddenly, she whipped a tape measure across my chest and concluded: “38DD.”
At that point, she recommended that I try on their “fit bra” in the dressing room . I stumbled away, dumbfounded. Double D? Impossible. I found my daughters and shared the news. Neither one of them seemed as surprised as I was.
I tried the “fit bra” only to determine I am a 38D. My daughters then rummaged the store for bras in my “new” size. They came in the dressing room with me and a batch of bras for me to try on. As I took off my t-shirt, they erupted into giggles.
“Mom,” Shannon began, “that bra does not fit you.”
“Well, it’s close, Shannon,” was all I could reply. “I thought it was fine.”
“No, it’s not,” she continued. “You have ‘underboob’.”
I stared at her blankly.
“Your boob is coming out the bottom of your bra.”
“And the top,” Kayla added. “You have ‘spillage’.”
“Can you notice with my clothes on?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” they said in unison.
“Fantastic,” I replied sarcastically. As I took off my bra and began to try on the first of the daughter approved bras, both girls stopped me.
“That’s not how you put on a bra, is it?” Shannon asked incredulously.
“What?” You slip your arms through and hook it in the back, with one hand. It improves dexterity, ” I smiled.
“Whatever. Your hook isn’t even in the right one,” she said.
Kayla chimed in. “You should hook it in front, around your waist and then bring it up.”
“Listen guys, ” I began, “I appreciate the help, but I have been putting on bras for more than 30 years…”
“Yeah, the wrong way,” Shannon piped up. Spoken like a true teenager who knows everything.
Despite the fact that I was shamed by my lack of bra knowledge, I did discover that the bigger bra was more comfortable. The straps didn’t dig into my shoulders and I didn’t have over- or underboob. Plus, the hook in the back did not feel like a straight-jacket. Armed with my enlightenment about bras, I asked the girls to help me with a new endeavor: underwear.
“Hey, let’s go see what size underwear I should be wearing!” The girls seemed less than enthusiastic about this prospect, but I knew that it was time to retire my holey, unsexy underwear, as well. That is, until I saw the price of underwear–thirty bucks for a piece of cotton string! My “mom” instincts then kicked in.
“On second thought, ladies, let’s go buy some school clothes…”