Bra Shopping hurts.

My mom made me cry last weekend. I'm not a touchy, feely kinda soul so if you've made me cry, there's a solid reason for it in my mind. HOWEVER, I love to cry because of a movie. If the movie has made me cry, its a good one!

So we're shopping in the mall trying to find twelve a Valentines Day dance dress. Which actually, turns out to be pretty easy. But we're shopping here, checkin' out things there, just being mall rats. Mom decides she is going to buy me a new bra. NOT just any bra, she is going to buy me a Victoria Secrets bra. A bra that you purchase for double digits. I'm so cheap, and I rarely buy for myself so the last thing I was shopping for was a bra, much less one that cost 40 bucks on sale. But again, mom decides that the one I currently wear, the one I've had since I was pregnant with four, the one and only goody bra I have, is shit.

Which, in her defense, it's old and doesn't shine like it should, there's no padding and nothing that makes you say "ooo, look at those balanced and perfectly formed ladies" but hell, it does the trick for me. Lets just hope I'm never in an accident. The shame brought onto my family is one we may never live down. But I hear how important a good fitting, supportive bra is, so I'm half ass willing to try. I'm still of the opinion that 40 dollars is alot of money for a bra though. You can call me cheap if you like, I've been called worse.

So we are in Victoria's secret. I'm not comfy in the first place, its out of my league, I'm just more comfortable in the blue light special area. There's a big blue light flashing so if you've lost me, you can just follow the light. But in VC, there's all these "Personables" hangin' out, and college co-eds with their thongs showin' feeling on every piece of "personable" in there. I also saw GUYS in there, so I'm thinkin' along their lines.............. "gawd, get me to the food court." And then, out walks a pleasantly plump lady with her measuring tape.

Mom tells her she is going to get a new bra and she'd like for me to have new one also. She measures ma, gets her size, and shows her the styles they have available in that size. Mom grabs her "try-on" bra and marches back to the dressing room. Then she sets her sights on me. I'm already feeling like a cheeseburger in an energy-bar place, and here comes ms. measuring tape. She measures me with the hmmm, hmmm and looks at the different styles on the wall. She tells me I am a 38 B. I'm not well endowed. I know that. Hell, I'm only a "B" when I'm totin' extra weight because when I lose weight, the first to go is my "B's". But so far, other than being here, I'm not any more uncomfortable than I was. Ms. Measuring tape picks the bra I need to try on and sends me on my way to my stall. (At the mall on a saturday afternoon, Victoria's Secret dressing rooms are simply "stalls" )

I try on this magical bra and it's tighter than I would like. I'm thinking at 40 dollars a bra, this thing is going to fit PER-FECT-LEE. I might even want it to strap itself on for 40 bucks but hell, it was moms money so I was willing to strap it on myself. It didn't fit as nicely as I would have liked. It was a little tight under my arms. I wiggled and jiggled, but nope, I wasn't feeling like Dolly. So I wait my turn, and beckon ms. measuring tape. I tell her that it's a bit tighter under the arms then what I would like and she goes back to the "hmmmm'ing" She tells me to sit tight a moment and she will be right back.

During this time, mom is as happy as a pig in pig shit because she's Mrs.. lose alot-of-weight and clothes actually fit her when she tries them on. I don't remember those days, and am working real hard to bring them back but have been discouraged the last week or so. But I keep pluggin' along.................

So the measuring tape lady comes back. She's standing in my room, feeling me up and says " we just don't carry a 40 B anymore. We used to, but we don't anymore." and looks at me for an answer. What was I supposed to say? So I stood there, saying nothing. I didn't know what to say. I was thinking, "O-God, I'm so fat that the damn BRA STORE doesn't even carry MY BRA SIZE" I mean, I know better than to walk in a store with "petite" in their name and start browsing, but this is like being at the Honda dealership, and being told they have no accords that you can buy. Sorry Heatherg, they'll be no Honda in your driveway. Why don't you go home, think about why you cant have a Honda and pass up that extra helping of Toyota next time.

As I'm handing her back the bra, the 40 dollar bra from hell, I'm on the verge of tears. I'm standing in the stall by myself thank god, putting my trusty, love - me - even - when - I'm - fat - bra back on, thinking that's what I get for trying to replace the support I had during my pregnancy, nursing my son, thrown over umbrellas when we were camping and drunk (Bra-less weekends) many-a-toss-on-the-floor nights. Shame on me for trying to replace that. My son snuggled me wearing this bra, how dare I try to replace it. I will wear this bra until I am 90!!!

But then the lady says " How about a bra extender" and I ask what that is. She goes on to tell me, but by now, I'm just crushed. I'm embarrassed. I am so thoroughly embarrassed. I felt like every single co-ed and snot- ass - 5 carat - diamond ring - wearing female in that place had heard my "im too fat for a bra" thoughts. I'm sure some of them even heard the "bra-lady from destroy you and make you embarrassed lands" comment about no longer carrying my size. I simply said "No, thank you" and moved past her.

She was as kind as she could be, it wasn't the sales ladies fault they didn't carry it, or that I knew nothing of a bra extender, or that my mother was going to purchase me my first bra that cost more than 9 dollars and I am 32 years old. I was just upset. Mom had tried to explain to me that a bra extender was ok and to go ahead and get one, it wasn't a big deal, but the consequences of gaining so much weight through the years was first and foremost in my thoughts.

And that's when it happened. I was just in tears. I had to step into moms stall and cry. and blame.
I told her, "see......... I told you I didn't need a new bra. But you had to make me have one and now I'm fat and they don't have one for me." Like it was her fault. But it wasn't, it was my fault. It was the first time I couldn't just grab something that said XX size. It was the first time I had to account for my weight. That's probably what has kept me determined this week.

Did you see that movie "pretty woman" where Richard Gere gives Julia Roberts money to shop so she doesn't look like a hooker when they go out? And remember when the sales staff at the fancy shop on Rodao Avenue (sp?) turns her away because of the way she is dressed? She's all sad and disappointed? She gets it all worked out, but when Richard Gere wants her to shop again for more clothes she whines about how the saleslady treated her so he goes with her and they get fancy, fancy clothes in abundance at another shop?? Follow me so far? Then Julia Roberts walks back into the first shop and makes a smart ass remark because they were shitty to her and now she's all-that.
So that's what I'm going to do.

When I lose some weight, I'm going to walk into the middle of Victoria Secret on a Saturday afternoon and climb up on a display and lift my shirt. They are gonna see my even smaller boobies in another brand-name bra! Although........ if their good sales people, they will offer me a hand down from my panty rack and show me something in Pink.

And I'm sorry ma, it wasn't your fault. YOU didn't make me cry. I made me cry. You just happened to be on the receiving end. And I wont hold it against you that you went ahead and bought a bra anyway. You deserve it.