Bra Less. And sometimes More.
by Cheryl, posted on July 15th, 2010 in Mama Kat's Writing Workshop
I decided I wanted a bra when I was in sixth grade.
It might’ve been because the gym teacher said we all needed to wear them. I asked my mother. She told me to lift my shirt.
“Flat as a board,” she said with a laugh.
Yeah. That was hilarious to my 11 year-old self.
She took me shopping anyway. To a store called Sage Allen. Where my sister’s friend, Susan, worked. I took a few boxes into the dressing room and carefully pulled out the white cotton bras with the little pink flower in the middle. My mother had this annoying habit of opening the curtain to see what was going on. The problem was she didn’t try to keep me hidden. She just went ahead and pulled the curtain, no matter if I was just in my underwear. I was mortified someone would walk by and SEE me. In all my bra-trying-on glory
I finally chose one. I checked myself out in the mirror. I turned to the left. Then to the right. The view didn’t change. But I felt like I finally fit in with the other girls in my class. If not in size, then in lingerie.
We got to the register, where Susan was working. She took the box and yelled, “Price check on a 28AAA bra!”
I slunk out of the store. And, I believe, never spoke to her again.
I was a junior in high school. It was finally spring, after a long, cold Connecticut winter in which I wore lots of bulky sweaters. The first day I wore a tee shirt, I noticed something. Yes, it was spring, and I had finally sprouted.
I went to school with my new bumps. My friend (this was before frenemy was in our lexicon) spread rumors that I was stuffing my bra. I was a 34B. At 16.
College brought me the freshman 15, otherwise known as I could’ve probably mixed in a couple light beers here and there. With the extra weight came a little more up top. I didn’t have much money, but what I earned scooping 32 flavors and serving fried clams over at Howard Johnson’s, I deposited over at Victoria’s Secret. I bought a eggplant purple lace push-up confection and a black satin racy number. A beautiful soft blue, barely-there gossamer creation, for which I splurged for matching panties (I had not yet been introduced to the thong). I might have neglected to mention I didn’t have a boyfriend at the time. All that sexy underwear was seen by only me. I was a 36C. At 20.
I invested in more practical stuff once I was out in the working world. I discovered the tee shirt bra, which took care of the headlights problem in air conditioned offices and sports arenas. The boyfriends never really did get to see the fancy stuff. Because a lot of times, those bits of lace and satin and gossamer? Just landed on the floor anyway. I had lost 30 pounds the summer I graduated. I was still a 36C. Throughout my 20s.
I finally got them. Porn star boobs. Huge, fleshy mounds spilling over the top of whatever tried to contain them. Unfortunately, they also came with dark blue veins. I was pregnant with my first child. I went to the maternity shop to buy my very first nursing bra. It was without question the ugliest bra I’d ever owned. But my breasts weren’t for fun anymore. They were purely for function. That bra? Fit. I was a 36DD. At 34.
The year after my second child was born I started running. I trained for and completed two marathons. My bras didn’t fit at all. My porn star boobs? Had deflated into teeny saggy baggies. I lost all the pregnancy weight plus a few more. I decided to get fitted because I couldn’t keep the straps up of the 34Bs I’d bought to tide me over. I went to Nordstrom. And was shocked to discover I was a 32D. The smaller the back size, the bigger the cup, apparently. No one could believe it. Because of course I told EVERYONE. It was that crazy. I was a 32D. At 38.
The third pregnancy put me – and my bazooms – over the edge. Literally. I couldn’t even begin to stuff them into those old nursing bras. I went to a great store that offered all kinds of stuff you need for nursing (including an awesome lactation consultant) and decided to splurge on some prettier bras than I’d had in the past. I found two I liked. When they measured me, even I was stunned. I was a 36DDD. At 40.
I wore those bras for over a year. The problem is the weight started coming off. And the bras didn’t shrink with me. I finally went back to my 32Ds. I was happy there. It reminded me of a time when I was, you know, in shape. The bras aren’t what they used to be, either. The right shoulder strap keeps slipping down over my shoulder.
I think I’m due for another trip to Nordstrom.
My bras? They are a ‘changing once again.
This post was inspired by Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop prompt “Choose a headline from The Today Show website and write up an opinion post based on the story you chose.” The headline I chose was Biggest bra moments in fashion.
Tags: biggest bra moments in fashion, flat as a board, mama kat's writing workshop, maternity bras, porn star boobs, time for a fitting
I pray I didn’t do this to MY daughter…my own mother was so insensitive to my fragile tween-ness. Thanks for the laugh!
Liz B. Says:
Kris Says:
Cheryl Reply:
July 15th, 2010 at 11:03 am
They ARE tired, aren’t they? The poor girls! This did make me smile, too!
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