What could possibly be more annoying than bra shopping? Go ahead, think it through.
I told you.
Add the fact that I suck at shopping.
Nevertheless, we've reached That Point, so I leave work early and decide to look for 'foundation' garments because the state of my underwear is really kind of sad.
Let's start with bras.
If I am lucky enough to find one that fits (adequate support, minimum back fat and no boob squishing out the sides), I hang onto it forever, wearing it long past its shelf life.
And underpants? OMG, that's a whole other story. (The only thing I like about them is that B-man calls them 'panties,' which is both sexy and embarrassing.)
Plus, let's face it, I'm a practical girl. No lacy, frilly numbers, no thongs, none of that. I have worn Jockey underwear for as long as I can remember and have no intention of changing now.
But today, I have a shopping experience that rocks my underwear world.
On the way home, I stop by my favorite department store, just to wander and check out the latest sales. After finding nothing but printed, colorful, items (where the hell is the black, beige and gray?), it dawns on me that I might feel less annoyed if I go to the third floor and get on with looking for new underwear.
Armed with at least 15 bras in a range of sizes, determined to find the perfect sonofabitch, I ask the sales associate if I can try them on. She is older, with a strong middle eastern accent and a take charge manner. She looks at me, then at the bras and says, 'these bras no fit you, because you a between size.' Without measuring or asking the size I usually wear, she pulls one bra out of the crowd and says, 'thees the perfect bra for you.' 'Go try bra and I come check on you. You see, it be perfect.'
I'll be damned if it wasn't perfect.
After purchasing that bra in every color, then renewing my supply of Jockeys ( graduating to the silky leopard prints), I walk away with the new confidence of a grown up woman with great tits.
Perfume was my next stop.
Aside from Sycomore, I'm not in love with Chanel, but today, I make a bee-line for No. 19 and Cristalle, simply because I think I am All That and need an extraordinary perfume to match. For the first hour, Cristalle is my favorite, with its herbal, mossy jasmine heart. Ultimately, No.19 wins me over through its musty, leathery iris.
Chanel is the exclamation point that ends the horror of bra shopping, thanks to the magic of my new friend. There's nothing I can't do now.