A Bra By Any Other Name… (would still be a pain…or, perhaps, not so much of one…read on)

Forgive me for getting a bit girly in this post.  I know, that’s really not like me, so – I don’t know – for some of my readers, the change might actually be refreshing (I tend to avoid a lot of what I think is female nonsense unless I am griping about the female nonsense). But, this is like a serious issue.

 

Let’s talk bras!

 

For me, a good fitting bra is sort of like a good pair of shoes.  I will wait until the shoes are falling off my feet, the sole worn out and letting water in, before I will consider getting a new pair of shoes.  First, we need to make sure if we can pay the rent and get food on the table, and then, if there’s anything left over, I will go and find the cheapest pair I can get that feels ok and looks decent and will go with a variety of outfits (I have to admit a total brain-tilt when it comes to those women who have a pair of shoes for nearly every outfit.  Seriously, even if I had the money to frivolously purchase such things, I would spend it on other stuff…  like, I don’t know, a grand piano…or, less grand (no pun really intended…ok, yeah, of course there was), maybe a nice steak dinner now and then, maybe some nice leather furniture, and lots and lots of books (real books – I am not talking Kindle nonsense), oh, yeah, and a new computer… I could really use one of them, that would be actually useful… but 86 pairs of shoes that all cost over £40 a pop… nope, I just DO NOT GET IT… but, hey, man, have I digressed…seems I can’t help but gripe over female nonsense…oh, well…) Back to our regularly scheduled bra, already unfastened. πŸ™‚

Bras. Good ones, that fit well? They are an expense – a luxury – that other necessities usually come a long way before. But, I may be beginning to see that a proper fitting brassiere is more of a necessary thing than I have previously wanted to consider.

It makes so much of a difference. In comfort, in the way your boobs, girls, knockers, rack (whatever you want to call those mammary glands) are supported.

Before yesterday, the last time I had purchased a new bra was sometime late 2010 maybe, or early 2011…clearly, I forget.  It was one of those desperate things.  All my old bras didn’t fit me anymore. The cups were either too big (because I had been breastfeeding and, therefore, I had been naturally more busty when I got them) or they were too small around (because I had gained weight). So, I went and bought me a couple of cheapies ( black one and a white one, to cover all my clothing bases) in a discount clothing shop.  I don’t know what happened to the white one…it’s bound to be around the house somewhere…I wore it whenever I couldn’t get away with wearing the black one.  The black one went with almost everything I wear, so I just kept wearing it.  It didn’t fit particularly well, but it wasn’t the worst fit in the world either.  I had not been measured when I bought it. Obviously, it wasn’t that sort of a place where you would get a proper fitting. You just grab the thing off the rack, maybe try it on in the changing room (which, at least, I did do…ugh, I hate changing rooms… but, that’s another blog for another day), pay your £8, and get the heck out of there.

 

So…  yesterday came, and I mentioned to my husband that the time was arriving. I could really not put off getting a new bra any longer.  My cheapy was not only looking ratty, but it couldn’t support a fly anymore.  Now, I have rather punier bazoomas than I would like to have… but, they do, fortunately, have more substance to them than does a fly.

 

My amazing husband had an idea.  He wanted to go and get me a proper, good fitting bra – something that would be comfortable and do what it is supposed to. He took his mum’s satnav, which we inherited when she died, and he sold it at a cash-converters (pawnshop type dealydo)…then he took me to a place called Bare Essentials – a lovely privately owned lingerie shop – where I got properly measured (something that a woman needs to do on a regular basis, because, well, we just don’t stay the same shape/size up there, even IF we stay the same dress size (which I haven’t…so, all the more reason I needed to be measured)… stuff shifts and changes and adjustments need to be made for comfort and support’s sake). Then the sales assistant /lingerie advisor type lady gave me a selection of bras to try on and helped me to choose one that properly fit me.

 

Whoa… I nearly feel like a new woman!  What a major difference.  It’s made me realise that, perhaps, now and then, maybe I should make it a priority to find a way to save some pennies here and there so I am able to get a proper bra when I need to.

 

I encourage you ladies out there; if you haven’t been measured in a while, go do it.  You might be surprised.  I know, you might be depressed by your measurements, as well. But, you don’t have to share that info with anyone else.  You will FEEL so much better wearing something that fits correctly!

 

So, with happy boobs, I bid you all good day, God bless and happy bra wearing (or, in the case of the men who may have stuck with this post long enough, bra unfastening). And, thanks, Mum…still taking care of me, even now.  And, thank you, Jamie.. for, well, being you.

 

Oh, yeah… no one is ever going to convince me differently about the shoe thing! πŸ˜›

 

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