I'm not a shopper. At all. Not for clothes, shoes, or groceries. It's a necessary evil in my mind. Not sure what kind of a woman that makes me. But yesterday, I went to Dillards and had a professional "bra fitting." Dear God in Heaven.
So with a tsk of her tongue, Miss Saleslady stuffs me into this bra that "fits perfectly," she says. I sigh and say, "Okay. I'll take it." I've never paid so much for a bra in my life. Since when did undergarments begin costing so much? $70.00 for a dang bra! And then she has the nerve to ask me if I want to buy more than one?
Ugh. No thanks.
When I get home, I decide to wear it around the house just to get the feel of it. I mean, I'm not used to that kind of support. I've been wearing Walmart bras for the past ten years. You know the kind I mean. Soft, white, just enough support that you're not jiggling all over the place, no underwire, the kind of bra you can throw in the washer and dryer and forget about. After all, it was ten bucks after the "rollback" price. Good enough for me.
So I've got on this 70.00 bra and I feel like I'm in a straight jacket, or wrapped in a corset from 1890. After about twenty minutes the underwires are not only cutting into my side, they're hurting my underarms. The four clasp closure in the back is scratching my back and now I'm getting pissed off. How the heck did somebody talk me into paying $70.00 for something that feels so horrible. I don't give a rat's patutie how high and tight it holds the girls. I need a little comfort with my support. Not torture!
I rush downstairs, pull the Dillards bag and sales receipt out of the trash, and quickly take the bra off.
Ahhhhhh. (C'mon ladies, you know the feeling!)
This over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder is going back to Dillards after I head to Walmart for milk, eggs, cheese, and a new bra.