the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Wherein I was fondled by strangers

Over the weekend I had to fix an ongoing problem in my more personal life. So I headed to the mall, hit the lingerie section of a big box store and asked two girls who are young enough to be my children to tell me how big my boobs are.

After having given birth in front of an audience twice, the only modesty I have about my private parts is the fact that I will obey the law and not shop without any pants on. Or is that even against the law? Because I saw a girl yesterday wearing a bikini, and she was in the mall WALKING AROUND with a see-through shirt on top. Nothing else. I couldn’t decide whether I should walk over and give her a high-five or remind her that, honey, this isn’t Florida.

So, yeah. These two girls were innocently folding panties when a muscular Peter Pan walked up and started barking orders. I just felt like I shouldn’t delay the inevitable and side-step the whole thing, so I said, listen. None of my bras fit. In fact, they are so ill-fitting that right now I am wearing a tattered sports bra. Here, let me lift up my shirt and show you. You didn’t know that Peter Pan has breasts, did you?!

I was really impressed with the level of their decorum, which I guess if you’re going to be working with other people’s boobs all day, you’ve got to get to a point where you accept that really weird things can happen. Like, you can’t flinch when you hand someone a bra, and when they drop the one they were wearing on the floor you notice that there are tire marks across the cups.

One of the girls approached me with a measuring tape and began sizing up the whole situation. She bit her lower lip, did another measurement, and then tilted her head to the side. “Bring me a size _ _- _, ” she said to the other girl. What? You think I am about to tell you my bra size? Are you out of your damn mind? A girl must have her secrets. Plus, I’ll be out in public one day and someone will recognize my boobs because I wrote about them on the Internet, and then all sorts of accusations will start flying about how I put my boobs in danger.

Don’t you know how the Internet works?

The girl who measured me knows her business, because she got it right the first time. I thought I was going to spend several awful hours contorting my body into various bras, because I have been through that in the past. And any woman will tell you that some of the most horrifying moments of her life are standing underneath that awful dressing room light and seeing giant pockets of flesh jutting up underneath her armpits like she’s trying to smuggle bulging bags of ground beef through security.

Ground beef side boobs = wrong bra.

But this time I had a perfect fitting bra in less than fifteen minutes, so I bought one in black and one in a more nude color to wear with white t-shirts (the staple of my diet). You know you’re not supposed to wear white bras under white t-shirts, right? Open any women’s magazine right now and you will find that tip somewhere inside its pages, along with 101 ways to pleasure your man that are totally different from last month’s 101 ways to pleasure your man.

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This post was sponsored by the Skinny Cow Perfect Cup campaign. Be sure to check out their website to find out more about the next event in your area! An event is being held on 8/27 in LA. Register today!

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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