My Boobs are no longer Victoria’s Secret.

I’m not a big clothes shopper.  Actually, I’d rather weed my garden then go clothes shopping.  Sometimes when women aren’t clothes shoppers, they’re shoe or handbag shoppers.

I’m not those either.

I just don’t care.    This isn’t to say that I dress in rags.  I buy what I wear and not more.  I have one pair of jeans.  I have one pair of shoes that I wear daily.  I have one purse, and it’s not a designer one.

I’m sort of minimalist when it comes to clothes.

This is great until I have an event where I need to have something more than a t-shirt and jeans.

This scenario led me to the mall.

On a Saturday.

Now, I’m no professional writer, but I can tell you that if you are lacking in blogging material?  Head to your nearest mall on the weekend.

First up was something to wear.  If I’m not a clothes shopper first?  You should know I’m not a dress wearer second.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m tall but the only dresses I like on myself are full length.  Anything shorter and I feel like a troll.

So I found a pants, shirt, and cardigan combo.  Up next?  A bra.

Mine had become, let’s say, unsupportive of my decision to have them higher than my navel.

I head to Victoria’s secret.

As I walk in, I notice it’s crowded.

I make my way through the crowds to the wall where the bras are hanging.

I notice that only 32 B’s are hanging in every style.

I also notice that they have names such as “The Showstopper” the “Bombshell” and “Incredible.”

I briefly look down and wonder which category I need.  I’m thinking “The Showstopper” means something different than me taking off my shirt and the curtain falls.

I turn and notice the long line to try on the bras.  As I do, a young 20-ish woman asks if I need help.

My first thoughts are “well, there’s no way SHE’s going to measure what I’ve got going on in here, and it’s a Bombsomething, all right. “

Me: Um..I’m not sure.  The line looks really long.

Her: Oh, it’s not really that long.  A lot of girls bring their friends to try bras on with so the line is probably only half girls trying on.

Me: You mean like a boob buddy?

I can safely say that that young woman was not prepared for my remarks.

She replied with silence and backed away slowly.

I look around a little more but was unable to find the bra called “Miracles Can Happen” or “Almost a Boob Lift.”

I decide that Victoria has let the secret out and the secret is that my boobs are no longer in the same category as most of their child free clientele looking to buy pretty bra’s with clementines on them.

I leave.

I stop at the mall directory and see a Cacique.  I decide to try there.

I walk in and it’s empty.

I’m greeted by two women with a “Hi”

“Oh, hi, I just left Victoria’s secret because my boobs are now old, saggy, and lopsided and I don’t think they can address those issues for me anymore”

One girl walks away to hide. (Probably not because of me)

The other girl says “And it’s nice to meet you too”

Her name was Amy.  Amy asks to measure me.

“Lift” she says.

“It’s that obvious huh?”

We make some small talk and then remarks that she thought I was 34.


She gives me the size and we go to their wall.  Though this time the names are different.

“T-Shirt Bra”  “Passion” and “Balconette”

Balconette is a polite way of saying “We know your boobs are in the basement and we’re here to put them back on the balcony”

Helpful bras.

Not bra’s trying to get me to second base.   Cause honey?  It’s not that exciting.

She hands me two different styles and I try them on.

The first one was a lower cut one.  I try it on and it was like OH HELLO THERE.

Except my right boob was all sorts of spilling out of it.

The left was fine.

I show her and she says, um, yeah.  I can see it  popping up.

I said “Yeah, it’s like a turtle head coming out for a snack”

She agrees and I try on the next style.

And it works.

No turtle head, no side bulge, no chin rests.   So I buy 3 and thank Amy for her help.

And if you come see me in the show next weekend?

Try not to stare.

They look fantastic.