It’s shocking- and I feel very uncomfortable saying this- but I sort of prefer bra shopping over other types of shopping such as shoe shopping or pants shopping. It’s far easier to remove ones shirt and bra (yes, despite what boys think) than it is to remove ones shoes and pants.
Then, as you’re standing in the changing room…or, rather, bouncing up and down to test how effective your potential new bra is at keep things nice and cosy, you happen to overhear everyone elses conversations.
There’s always the teenage girl and her mom.
Mom: Does it fit?
Mom: Too big or too small?
Girl: Too small!
Mom: Around the bottom or the cup?
Girl: The cup!
Mom: Really?!? A B-cup is too small? That would mean you’d have to wear a C-cup?!?
She said on a tone that was somewhere between a proud “my daughter is such a woman” and a disgusted “no daughter of mine will wear a C-cup!”
I’d like to point out that when I was 16, I could totally fill a D-cup. Now I’m happy when Bs aren’t too ginormous for me. I have a theory about that, but the comfort level of this post is already being stretched to its tearing point. I’m not going to push it any further.
Then there’s the adult woman and her aged mother.
Woman: Does it fit, Mom?
Woman: What’s wrong with it?
Mother: My fat’s hanging out!
Woman: Are you sure? Your breasts are smaller than mine and I wear that size.
Mother: My fat’s hanging out! I can’t wear this. Come in and see for yourself!
I hope my mother and I never have that discussion.
So anyway, after I tried jumping around with every bra in the store, I was thrilled at my size of the day and decided on three. As I made my way to the checkout, I stopped by to maybe pick out some new underwear from the 5 for 25$ section. Some of it looked nice from a distance.
I paused for a moment, observing a middle aged woman with her preteen son. He was a good sport, I gotta give him that. I’ve never gone nice underwear shopping with my mother and I’m female. The thought just makes me queasy. I’m not sure what I think of bringing your almost pubescent son to an underwear shop. On one hand, it might desensitize him to underwear shopping and he’ll be a better shopping companion to his female friends later on in life. I love male friends who can voice an opinion about lingerie without having a panic attack. On the other hand, it might scar him for life and he’ll never be able to see lingerie without thinking of his mother.
I’m not bringing my son nice underwear shopping, so I’ll never know the outcome of that situation.
So after pondering the future of the poor, corrupted male child, I picked out 5 pieces. It’s funny how nice underwear looks from a distance, but when you get up close, it’s not so appealing.
Lace? Scratchy, will give me rash.
Flimsy, silky material? Yeast infection waiting to happen.
Words like “Kiss kiss” or “Rebel Chick” embroidered on the back? I’ll be mistaken for a 25 year old pretending to be 16.
Cute little bows? I don’t find that attractive, and if I don’t find that attractive, no being with testosterone is going to find that attractive.
Bottom line is, none of these are going to get me laid. (Granted, if someone’s seeing your underwear, you’re probably going to get laid regardless, but every unattached girl has that that horrific moment in Bridget Jones when Daniel freaks out about her granny panties playing in her head.)
And once that hell of a shopping spree was over, it was time to pick up white shirts for work.