I had my first bra fitting today. I’d never had one before. But I needed one today because of the dress I plan to wear to the ball next week.
I am wearing this dress. I was lucky enough to win this beautiful dress last year from Flair to Remember. I will be wearing it with a cropped mint tuxedo jacket. And probably flat shoes, because no one will see my feet under this length of material.
However, there is an awkward boob situation with the halter neck. And I needed to solve this situation. It’s a work function after all.
I was a bit afraid to go for a bra fitting. I just don’t want anyone seeing my boobs and adjusting my bra. I am nervous about what they will think of my skin. I don’t want to freak out some naive sales assistant with my skin shedding like a scene in a snow dome as soon as I whip off my top.
So I went to visit my lovely friend, Paula, who I worked with at the department store years ago. She now works at a lingerie store. She knows her bra stuff. She’s like the Einstein of bras. There are so many variables. 10 DD is equivalent to a 12 D. Bras are hard to come by in a size 8. Playboy bras are apparently the best. Padding can be removed (hallelujah!).
Paula measured my back and bust. I found out many things about my bra size today. I am not the woman I thought I was. I am pleasingly smaller in some ways, and surprisingly bigger in others.
Some girls may be envious of my rack. Some boys may enjoy it. I am mainly just inconvenienced.
Paula said that she’s had many women in tears in the change rooms. There were no tears from me. Just laughter. And some frustration. Paula said the nicest dresses are often the most difficult to pair with a bra.
I tried on about six bras and one bikini top. They all made my boobs shift to varying degrees of gravity. When I had an unsupportive bikini top on, I commented my breasts looked droopy, like a milking cow’s.
Here are a selection of the bras hanging in my change room.
I found two bras that I liked and bought. Both are convertible. Like a Barbie sportscar. Only more functional.
Of course I am not showing you here. I need to keep some modesty about me on this blog. Hell, yesterday I admitted my pyjama wearing status.
The bras can be worn with my ball dress and also for every day occasions.
Thank you Paula for your excellent customer service, and making this experience pretty damn hilarious.
There were a couple of times where I called out to Paula in desperation:
‘What would Rebecca Twigley do?’
FYI – Rebecca Twigley is the partner of an Australian footballer. She is most famous for attending football award nights wearing dresses that reveal a lot of side boob.
Today, in the confines of the change room, I felt like The Twigley in my Ladakh dress.
Except I am 5 foot 2.
A size 10.
And will probably never be on the arm of a footballer (hello Ben Cousins, I am single, I hear you are too…).
I knew The Twigley would have a solution to this booby situation. Paula and I decided she probably uses Hollywood Fashion Tape. Hollywood tape would not work for me. I am dry and oily at the same time. A Hollywood tape nightmare. The only time I’ve ever used Hollywood tape was for something that Hollywood tape is not generally used for – sticking some photos together at work. Don’t ask.
My solution to less boob reveal is a large round brooch pinned under my bust. Thank you Diva!
I am not the praying kind. And I never ask for prayers. Except this one time. I ask for all of you to pray that my boobs keep themselves nice in my dress next Saturday night. It’s a work function.