I went underwear shopping the other day. Very exciting, I know, but here’s the thing: how often do you have to buy a different size of underwear?
The Bra
Bras, yes, the slightest change in weight can result in the need for a larger or smaller cup size. Lucky for me, J.C. Penney was having a Bra Fit Event.
Because bras are serious business. Didn’t you know? Oh yes, saleswomen walk around with tape measures draped around their necks like scarves in winter. Every fifteen minutes, the loudspeaker announces the Big Event and urges you to rush to the lingerie area to have someone feel you up.
Actually, they urge you to request a “complimentary personal fitting” with one of their “certified bra fit specialists” but it amounts to the same thing.
I measured myself at home and was pretty sure I knew what I was doing but lo, I was mistaken. I knew the old way of measuring was wrong, where you add four inches to get your band size (devised before the invention of elastic, apparently) but there is some dissent as to whether you measure just under your breasts for your band size or just over the top of your breasts. The latter turned out to be more accurate for me. Go figure. The cup size measurement technique remains the same: measure over the fullest part of your breasts, subtract your band size, and each inch represents a cup size.
Once you have your correct bra size, don’t get cocky. You are so not done yet. Just like a size 10 dress is a size 12 somewhere else and a size 8 or 6 in the really expensive stores (where you literally pay for your delusion,) all bras are not created equal. And once you find a brand and style you like but decide you want it in multiple colors, you must try each color on to be sure it fits the same. Ditto for a different style in the same brand. I know it sounds insane. Trust me on this.
Twenty three bras later, I finally found one that fit perfectly. ONE. And it isn’t even all that pretty. But at least my boobs will look like boobs now and not squished, bulging aliens from the planet HereComeMyBoobs.
The Panty
So I am exhausted from the Bra Fit Event marathon, ready to just grab some panties and go home, but no. As I mentioned previously (see #4), my butt is not the same size as it used to be. Contrary to logic, measuring my butt did not help determine the correct panty size.
And so began the trying on of the panties. Which you must do over the top of your existing panties, due to hygiene concerns as well as the “euw” factor. It is like trying on a cocktail dress over jeans: it can be done but you cannot tell if it really fits so what is the point?
I opted for a few that boasted “no panty lines” that seemed to fit relatively well in the store, only to discover they achieve the “no panty line” effect by traveling up and disappearing into your butt crack when you take your first step. Not exactly what I had in mind.
I also tried on some standard briefs, as opposed to the high-cut ones I usually wear, thinking this might take care of the panty line issue. Alas, I now know the meaning of the term “granny panties.” The waistband sat just below my lovely new bra band. How very Ed Grimley.
I was too depressed to try on the boy shorts. I’ll just order them by mail and be humiliated in the privacy of my own home, thank you. Meanwhile, I will dig panties out of my butt crack.
I’ll try to do it when no one is looking.
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Life doesn’t fit.
Life is change.
Life just is.
