You're probably wanting an explanation for my two-month hiatus, huh? Well, I went on vacation right after my last post and decided to take a vacation from everything, including my diet (more on that later), and, obviously, my blog. While on vacation I found out I was being put on a new project, one of the most challenging and exciting opportunities of my career.
And then I moved.
To Clarendon. A neighborhood of Arlington, Virginia. Pretty much the opposite of U Street.
I..can't...even get into it right now. As far as moving disasters go, it was not the worst. Still a moving disaster, and I'm in my own personal episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive. But my rent is cheap, and since I'm being all responsible and adultlike with my finances these days -- ish -- a move was necessary to keep that momentum going. More on that later as well.
What I really want to talk about is the follow-up to my last post, where yours truly found out she'd been wearing the wrong bra size for...ever I suppose.
I'll never forget the time when my older sister complained that my boobs were bigger when I blossomed as a teenager, and then my mother noticed my sister's were shmooshed into some tiny Victoria's Secret thang and fitted my sister in one of her Maidenforms and then we all learned that the order of bosoms, from largest to smallest, was mother, eldest daughter, teenage daughter. Universe order restored.
So it should not have come as some big surprise that I'd been ill-fitted for at least my adult life.
I recounted the story over dessert with my sister and her neighbors when I was home in Atlanta for a week-long visit, about a month after I tried True&Co. No I did not randomly bring up an embarrassing boob story. My sister's neighbor happens to be Sherrie of Necessities by Sherrie, bra fitter extraordinaire and, recently, bra fitter to the Georgia reality TV stars.
"What are you wearing, 34D?" she challenged me as I stuffed chocolate cake in my mouth.
"Oh I don't know. Yes. Apparently I'm not a 34D."
"No, you're not. I'd say you're..." She tilted her head and squinched her eyes. "32E."
According to Sherrie, 8 in 10 women are wearing a wrong size bra. So it's no wonder she was able to do this entire assessment across a table while I was fully clothed.
"Interesting!" I exclaimed. "True&Co. pegged me as a 32DD, but the bras they sent were too small. Do you really think I'm 32 and over a D cup?"
"Absolutely," she replied confidently. "What kind of bras did they send you? Calvin Klein?"
"Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact, they did."
"Calvin Klein is for models and teenagers. You need a woman's bra."
Flahsbacks of my mother's hideous Maidenform punched me in the face and I winced. Sherrie, detecting my misconceptions, offered me more cake and invited me to come to her store to get properly fitted.
A few days later I went to Necessities where Sherrie pulled several "mature cup" bras, as she called them. And what is a mature cup? It's one that extends almost to the back of your armpit to catch all that sideboob that spills over in non-mature cup bras, aka just about everything I've ever bought at Victoria's Secret, and displayed again in the True&Co. bras I tried on.
The very first mature bra I put on made me feel like this:
I was pretty sure I could shoot laser beams out of my bra if I really needed to, and I walked around the store making "ping! ping!" noises and pointing my boobs at my sister and Sherrie until they got uncomfortable.
Sadly, that meant when I put on the bra I walked in with, I now felt like this:
(Never mind. I couldn't find any images that were even close to safe for work. Just think along the lines of National Geographic. You get the gist.)
I ended up buying three bras and a retro-style bikini, and, while they were a little pricier than what I'm used to spending at Victoria's Secret, they are a much better investment. Plus Sherrie gave me some tips on how to lengthen the life of my new bras:
1. Always wash bras alone with no other laundry.
2. Use a gentle detergent like Woolite.
3. Always hang dry.
4. Never wear the same bra two days in a row.
I highly recommend visiting Sherrie the next time you're in Atlanta. She's so good, Sugar Bear ended up making a trip without Mama June, soooo...: