An Intimate Conversation

Today I braved the Intimates department at Kohl's, during a sale. My loving family had purchased a gift certificate for me for Mother's Day. Hubby explained later that it was for replacement of "grandma" bras only. Confession time: yes, the bras were definitely "grandma" as I hate shopping for them and put it off as long as humanly possible. I've been known to rip out a piece of underwire in a bathroom stall due to puncture torture (way more effective than waterboarding by the way), only to wear said bra in the future... for an undetermined length of time. I'm ashamed to admit it. Victoria's Secret is a long ago faded memory. Now it's more like Victor Victoria, well, maybe not all that bad. Okay, yes, yes it is.

So, with a swallowing of pride I forged ahead. I searched and searched for fit, for comfort, for sexy, for utilitarian, support, separate and supported, and everything in between. After submitting to the almighty dressing room mirror of horrors, I made a startling discovery. Now, you must remember that I had lost one size last summer after hours and hours of slave-like labor in the garden, and apparently part of that weight was in cup size. I'm okay with that. I can live with a one cup size reduction. It's not that. It's the fact that it emphasizes all my boobs have gone through. Breastfeeding has turned that which was previously perky to small grapefruit in pantyhose likeness. And one hard to please child, who shall remain nameless, played favorites leaving me permanently lopsided, not by a lot, but enough that the mirror of horrors saw it, in plain sight. Anyone know of a store that sells separate cup sizes in one bra? It was depressing!

Nearly as depressing as the fact that every cute design, sexy or desirable style stopped short one size before my size. Seriously, people the full figured would like to appear somewhat more attractive than an old Sears catalog model. Sexy was out... utilitarian was in. I had no choice but to resign to the fact.

Trying to lift my spirits, I ventured over to the Clearance sale items. I needed pants for work. After waiting, actually waiting in line for a dressing room, I tried on a million pants. Again, I was subjecting myself to the mirror of horrors and once again it revealed an ugly little secret. All the pants were too long. I have shrunk! Literally shrunk! I made myself try on a petite pair just for verification... it fit. Damn, I've shrunk. What the hell?

I am a lopsided, deflated, short and now depressed woman. And, my hubby wonders why I hate shopping.