Ok Dad you don't want to read this.
So I went bra shopping today (I warned you not to read this Dad). I have been either pregnant or breastfeeding since 2002. I need a bra that fits and that doesn't have an easy release in the front for breastfeeding. I have endured plain white with a clasp and two-inch thick straps for years. I have earned a decent bra. I have earned the Promised Land of bras. I have earned a Victoria's Secret Bra.
So I go to Victoria's Secret. I get measured. The woman tries to tell me I'm an A cup. I am not an A cup. I'm small but not nonexistent (or so I thought). So we try on an A cup and no I'm not an A. Then I try on bra after bra. None of them fit right. None of them looked right. I wasn't instantly transformed into a sex goddess. I didn't have any cleavage. I looked decidedly unfuckable. In short I looked nothing like this
I was very depressed. I left the store in my too big, stained, white, stretched out nursing bra with its revolutionary one-handed clasp.
After crying on the car ride home I realized where I went wrong. I wore the wrong clothes bra shopping. As I stood there wearing a black bra and these
No wonder I wasn't transformed into a sex goddess. A sex goddess does not wear shorts with an elastic waistband. A sex goddess wears a matching thong, or at the very least a pair of hot pants. I was also wearing pink flip-flops. Again a sex goddess does not wear pink flip-flops. I should have worn stiletto heels or at least a strappy sandal with a two-inch heel. The lighting was bad. Where was my back lighting? Sure I was lit from above, but I wasn't strategically lit from above and behind. I blame that on the store. And finally I left my wind-machine at home. How could I dream of trying on a bra without my wind-machine? You just don't get the full effect without a wind-machine. Maybe tomorrow I will go back. Maybe tomorrow I will go back with my stilettos and my wind-machine. Maybe tomorrow I'll take my stilettos and wind-machine go to Wal-Mart, all the humiliation at half the price.