Double D

As promised to myself, ages ago, I finally got around to treating myself and went bra shopping last night.

What an epic mission.

A few weeks ago, when our budget didn't allow for such folly, I cheekily went into Victoria's Secret and got fitted anyway. I was child-free for a few hours, and thought why not? It'll save time for when I actually go bra shopping later.

I was so wrong.

The assistant measured me, and told me I was size 34DD. I was more than happy to hear that, given I was a DD pre-kids, before two pregnancies and three years of breastfeeding.

Armed with that knowledge, I went back last night and spent a good half hour, painfully selecting a few bras in my size. It took longer than I thought because whenever I saw a style I liked, I couldn't find a colour I liked in 34DD.

Turns out 34DD is not so easy to find nice bras in, even in Victoria's Secret.

Eventually, I made my way into a fitting room, only to be horrified once I began trying on the bras.

First, what the hell is wrong with the fitting room lighting in those stores? It was suitably dim, yet somehow, every dimple and vein in my skin was highlighted. Did I look hot in those bras? No siree.

Secondly... back fat? Wtf? When did that happen? Deep breaths. The bras do feel rather tight... 

Turns out I'm not a 34DD after all. The assistant handed me a 36D to try on, which fitted okay-ish. I pointed to a little spillage at the sides, and suggested to her that perhaps I need a 36DD, but she told me the wire would go too high under my arms, and a D would be better.

Back to the drawing board, I left the fitting room to choose a new selection of bras. This time, different colours were available, and again, not all to my liking, so it took me a while.

Armed with my new selection, I returned to the fitting room. No more back fat, but each of the bras gave me massive spillage at the sides - more than the initial 36D I'd tried on. Unattractive, and uncomfortable. I called in the assistant - who, thankfully, was different to the other girl and seemed to have more of a clue.

Turns out I'm not a 36D either. Definitely a 36DD.

I had to start all over again. Different colours, and all that. Turns out DD, in any size, has less variety.

In the end, I settled on just one bra. An hour and a half it took me, to buy one mother-effing bra. A very pretty bra - no less - but only one bra.

I am so glad I didn't have to do that with small kids in tow. I'd have lasted ten minutes - praise the forces that be for night time shopping!

But next time? I'm buying online. At least after trying on over a dozen bras, I know my size for sure. Clicking on a few little boxes has got to be easier, and surely the big warehouse will have all the colours/styles in DD. That's what I call a win.

This is not me...    (Photo source)

I think I fill out my Victoria's Secret bra 

better than any of their models do -

no tissues or chicken fillets required.

Victoria's Snot

About a month ago, I made a promise to myself that when I'd finished for good with breastfeeding Miss Pie, I'd treat myself to some pretty new bras.

I am well and truly over the bras I currently wear. I've had most of them since I was pregnant with the Faery. That was five years ago, and I hung onto them for round two, buying a few more when needed. So, in this five-year period? I've been through two pregnancies, and a combined total - so far - of thirty-three months breastfeeding. That's more than four years of wearing boring, unflattering maternity bras.

Time has not been kind to the bras. They have lost what little shape they had to begin with, stretched and faded, and ride around my ribcage in an annoying fashion. Most likely, they are not the correct size for me any more but at this stage of the game, I can't justify buying new maternity bras. I weaned the Faery at eighteen months and - in the name of fairness - intend to do the same with Miss Pie. That will be only three months away, so I just need to suck it up for now.

Then... hello underwire! Hello again to proper support.

When I made myself this promise last month, I decided the ideal way to treat myself would be to make my new purchases from Victoria's Secret. I mean, I'm living in the US now, so why not take advantage of what's on offer?

I will buy my new bras in person - I don't trust making such purchases online - but I want to have an idea of what styles are being sold, so I decided to order a catalogue.

Why not just look at their website, I hear you ask? Well, although it's just browsing at this stage, it's still part of the plan to spoil myself. Sitting hunched over a computer to look at potential new bras? Nah. I want to put my feet up, with a nice beverage - which may or may not be alcoholic - and flick through glossy pages.

Ordering this catalogue was done through the Victoria's Secret website. When the request was done, I was sent a confirmation email, informing me that the catalogue would arrive within 7-10 business days. Fine by me, I'm not in a hurry.

That was a month ago. Three weeks later? Still no sign of the catalogue, so I emailed them to let them know. The reply I received was both apologetic and amusing. They apologised and said they were sending another catalogue. In the mean time, they wrote, did I know they have a website which could be viewed? (a link was provided) Okay, maybe those weren't their exact words, but it was something similar to that effect.

Umm... let me see... yes, I did know about their website because it was the only way I could request a catalogue.

This ramble is going somewhere, I promise.

The catalogue arrived today. I retrieved it from our mail box, and once inside, began to flip through it.

Here's the problem: both girls have been sick with a cold for the last few days, and I appear to have caught their germs. Awesome. I am covered in streaks of toddler snot, my own nose is running like a tap, my eyes are itchy from all the sneezing, and I am pretty sure a beauty of a cold sore is starting on my top lip.

My moral to this tale is this. Looking at a Victoria's Secret catalogue for inspiration when feeling decidedly unattractive and under the weather? Not a smart idea. Now I feel even less like hot stuff.