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You know, I wouldn't have to keep making these posts about bra shopping if I'd stay the same damn size for more than five minutes straight.

Three months ago, or thereabouts, I bought a new bra at Victoria's Secret, where they kindly informed me that I was a 40D, probably headed towards 40C. Okay. I could handle that. Sure, you don't get the really cool bras, but at least you can buy something there, instead of being relegated to the icy hinterlands of DD. (...So...cold....)

And yeah, I've lost a little weight since then, so the looseness of said bra was no great surprise. I assumed that, as is normal in women losing weight, I'd dropped a cup size. In the course of packing, I also came to the glum conclusion that my underwear drawer is an absolute disgrace to humanity, threw out about ten pairs that should have been mercifully executed years ago, realized that my underwear shopping also hadn't kept up with my weight loss, and decided it was time to go blow some hard-earned book advance on what is euphemistically known as intimate apparel.

Off I went. Victoria's Secret is my choice for bras, because a bra is a complex beast and it is best left to the professionals. I slouched in and was accosted by a dead-eyed saleswoman. "40C?" I asked hopefully. She looked vaguely past me and waved in the direction of the back, where they keep the sizes for those of us who are more Bouguereau than Nagel. I sighed.

Once in the back, another saleswoman, much less dead-eyed, descended on me, like a blond whippet on a despairing rabbit. "What are you looking for?"

"40C?" I asked, much less hopefully.

She eyed me up and down and said "No."


"You're not a 40. There's no way you're a 40."


"Not a chance. Come on." She unslung her tape measure and hustled me into the back. "You're a...yup...36D exactly."

"...I am?" I haven't been below a 40 in years.

"Yup. Perfectly on the nose, too, not a half size or anything."

"Well, I did lose a lot of weight recently...Does this mean you have more bras that will fit me?"

"Do we ever. Here, take these...and these...and these...and this one..."

So, having apparently dropped four inches around the ribcage in three months--but not a cup size--I then spent far, far too much money on a pair of bras that actually fit. Because suddenly Victoria's Secret had a whole shit-load of stuff that fit me.

I stared in the drawers that were now my size and thought They actually make bras in colors other than white and beige?

Dude. I mean, I don't NEED leopard print or stuff with rhinestone hearts, but it's nice to know that if I felt the urge, the choice is there!

(Mind you, in another few months, I'll probably be back there shopping again, but wow. Divorce is one HELL of a diet plan.)

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I love Victoria's Secret! I finally caved and got a sizing last time I went in, and found out I've been so wrong for way too long....and now I have bras that fit me and feel good. My only real issue with them is they don't carry much by way of full coverage bras, and I need those because I bend over a lot at my job (yay bookstore), so if I'm wearing something like a demi-cup my breasts slowly work their way out.

I'm so glad they don't make every single bra padded, either. 36C is entirely too busty for my body as it is without slapping on layers of padding. Seems like a couple of years ago when I was shopping for a bra everything was padded. Glad that craze is over and done with.

Without trying to be offensive, I have to say that a busty bookstore employee with that sorta problem is the stuff nerd fantasies are made of.

That wouldn't surprise me in the slightest, haha. One nerd got an eyeful the other day when one of my (also busty) co-workers was busily leaning over, trying to get a couple of stepping stools separated. Boy was he staring hard until he realized I was watching him, then turned red in the face and shuffled off. She's a bit shy, and I don't think she realized her cleavage was hanging out for everyone to see...

There's really no smooth way to recover from that.

Maybe seppuku.

but ya know, i think his would be a happy death ;D

Well... maybe. I mean, it'd be batter if he did the sword in the stomach thing, and then fell into the cleavage. That'd be better.

And maybe if he was really adventurous (and skilled with a sword) before the seppuku he could pull a Zorro. Your friend'd probably die of mortification though.

from naamah_darling:


Zorro-ing boobs: a good way to get killed, resurrected and then killed again out of pure spite.

And yes, death by boobs would not be the worst way to die. It may, in fact, be one of the best ways to go.

I didn't mean THAT. I meant the par tin Zorro where Antonia Banderas is fighting Catherine Zeta-Jones and he continually lops off little bits of her clothes until h er dress falls off?

I didn't mean THAT. I meant the part in Zorro where Antonia Banderas is fighting Catherine Zeta-Jones and he continually lops off little bits of her clothes until h er dress falls off?

OH man. That video is so good for so many reasons...

No, just one: CATHERINE ZETA-JONES. She makes my insides feel funny. XD

NO I meant the faceboob video.

jeez. wait, what? dammit, i think my tubes are getting crossed.

Usually, that's a pretty in depth expensive medical procedure.

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