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Bras are evil
Sep. 13th, 2003 05:08 pmI went shopping with step-ma. Yesterday I would have told you I was a 34E, maybe an F. Turns out I'm a 32 frickin' G, and sometimes an H depending on the brand. That's G for Gigantic and H for Heifer.
I just... I don't fuckin' believe it! I refuse to believe that my chest is that big. Seriously.
I have a whole rant about wires hurting and the way we actually have to wear them, it's not a fashion choice, and yeah, cavewomen didn't wear them but they weren't as well-fed and full of bloody hormones so they didn't have big tits. And the way only a couple of brands actually go to a large enough cup size - they tend to stop at DD or F, or one stopped at G and was far too small - and the ones that do sometimes only do it in the larger back sizes and... grr...
Oh, and the fact that the eight bras I managed to find (in three different large department stores, thank you) that actually fit cost, uh, coming up for two hundred quid? I don't want to buy bras! Yes, it's my dad's money, but I don't want to be spending it on something I damn well can't do without and seem to change size in every bloody year! I want to buy CDs, or a leather corset, or... I could buy and run a (cheap) second-hand car for the amount I spend on bras! Yeah, he wouldn't hand over the money, but still!
Oh, and standing there in my bra while a woman runs a tape round me is not my favourite way of spending five minutes. And that was after I'd wandered around the shop and found a few bras in the size I thought I was. And she brought in five or so, and none of them fit because I measured between an F and an FF. And she brought in some more. And a couple more. And I repeated the trying-on thing with four in another shop and six in yet another shop and I fucking hate doing the trying-on thing!
Also, wearing one that actually fits feels bloody odd.
I got a pair of black cords as well. So did step-ma. And we're going to go out for dinner. And I have a cat in my lap. He's a very cute cat, and he's warm, and he's even being nice and not using claws right now. So that's all right.
I just... I don't fuckin' believe it! I refuse to believe that my chest is that big. Seriously.
I have a whole rant about wires hurting and the way we actually have to wear them, it's not a fashion choice, and yeah, cavewomen didn't wear them but they weren't as well-fed and full of bloody hormones so they didn't have big tits. And the way only a couple of brands actually go to a large enough cup size - they tend to stop at DD or F, or one stopped at G and was far too small - and the ones that do sometimes only do it in the larger back sizes and... grr...
Oh, and the fact that the eight bras I managed to find (in three different large department stores, thank you) that actually fit cost, uh, coming up for two hundred quid? I don't want to buy bras! Yes, it's my dad's money, but I don't want to be spending it on something I damn well can't do without and seem to change size in every bloody year! I want to buy CDs, or a leather corset, or... I could buy and run a (cheap) second-hand car for the amount I spend on bras! Yeah, he wouldn't hand over the money, but still!
Oh, and standing there in my bra while a woman runs a tape round me is not my favourite way of spending five minutes. And that was after I'd wandered around the shop and found a few bras in the size I thought I was. And she brought in five or so, and none of them fit because I measured between an F and an FF. And she brought in some more. And a couple more. And I repeated the trying-on thing with four in another shop and six in yet another shop and I fucking hate doing the trying-on thing!
Also, wearing one that actually fits feels bloody odd.
I got a pair of black cords as well. So did step-ma. And we're going to go out for dinner. And I have a cat in my lap. He's a very cute cat, and he's warm, and he's even being nice and not using claws right now. So that's all right.
