WANTED: A Comfortable and Beautiful Bra
If shopping for a training bra as a 13-year-old threw me into a tailspin, can you imagine what it’s like as a middle-aged woman?
Begrudgingly, I was forced to admit my bras no longer fit properly. They hurt my stomach when I sat down as the underwires dug in. Thankfully, in the evenings I could pull the straps off through my sleeves and sling that contraption across the living room. However, when my neighbor unexpectedly texted me to go for a walk in the early evenings, I had to retrieve the discarded bra and put it back on. This process became such an ordeal, I was forced to admit the time arrived for a heart-to-heart conversation with the girls.
I felt frustrated. The time, effort and money for such an undertaking are indescribable. However, I was also sad. Before I could affix my support system one morning, I suddenly realized gravity took over. What were once up, were now down. Isaac Newton was correct in his Law of Gravity apple demonstration.
There was a good reason for my discouragement as my mind’s eye solemnly went back in time. After becoming a mother over 20 years ago, I noticed a shift in the girls, however, I figured after a few months, they’d bounce back. Shortly thereafter, I was glancing through an Oprah Magazine when I stopped on page 55. There was an article dedicated to getting properly fitted for a bra. The writer promised once this took place birds would suddenly appear, the most elegant meals would be prepared effortlessly and the potholes in one’s life would be paved. I instantly decided, “I want that!”
As quick as a flash, I put my baby in the car and raced to Nordstrom for my smooth fitting. My young son and I were waiting in a dressing room when two gorgeous 20-somethings sauntered in with a measuring tape, pencil and a clipboard.
One of the young women told me to take everything off from my waist up. I screeched, “But, I’ll be half-naked!” In a professional tone, she replied, “We realize this is an uncomfortable process, however, how else will we properly measure you?” I told the gals I needed a few minutes to gather my wits.
Approximately 10 minutes later, I peeked out from the dressing room door. I was told to hold my arms high into the air while one of the gals wrapped the measuring tape snuggly around my upper rib cage. When the embarrassing process was complete, I was told the results and emphatically denied, “I’m not that size!”
Even as the years passed and I realized I was fighting a losing battle, I elected to remain a natural woman. Admittedly, there’s not a lifting cream in the world for breasts, thighs or one’s turkey neck. With the dollars spent over the years, I could make Avon quiver.
Sure, there are bras to present a false impression of perkiness. The advertisements are in magazines from PEOPLE to Rolling stone. I even saw them in my mother’s Home & Garden magazines during the 70s. Jane Russell was shown excitedly holding an 18-hour Playtex bra, “Hurray, Full-Figured Gals!”
A year ago, I added four-inch bra extenders to offer comfort, yet to no avail. Today, it was time to face my music and embrace the need for more supportive undergarments. I drove to Walmart since Macy*s in the mall is closed until further notice. I moseyed through the aisles with a couple of easy wants in mind. I didn’t want any more back fat or fatty skin oozing over the edges underneath my armpits. I surmised I better get bras with full coverage as Jane Russell instructed. It would be awesome to find styles in ice cream colors, such as pastel pink, green or blue.
I was becoming encouraged at the prospect of looking and feeling like my former supple self. Hmm, I also want the bras to have the company information and size stamped into the fabric, as opposed to a tag, which constantly scratches the middle of my back. I didn’t want the cups to have lace or a seam as this rumples the fabric of my tops. In the petite-cup section, I noticed bras without underwire and thought that could be my ticket to ride. Perhaps the bras could also produce a little cleavage on the front, instead of on my back. I felt my requests were not too selfish and, therefore, absolutely achievable.
I walked in circles for several minutes locating nothing in my perceived size. At last, the bombshell of a realization took place. The imagined size I needed was in an entirely different section of the lingerie department. With my heels dug into the concrete floor, I was forced into the private world of Jane Russell’s pride and joy. I picked through the racks until I located six bras in a variety of pastels. Now, I was excited and hopeful. It was time to try them on and I headed to the dressing rooms.
The two stodgy female dressing room attendants noticed me walking in their direction with the six-item limit and their eyes narrowed. I intuitively read their suspicious minds, “Oh, look. Here comes a live wire. She obviously has no clue what’s happening around the world.” I knew I could win them over with a smile and cheerful voice. “Good afternoon, ladies. I’d like to try on these bras, please.” There was a dulled silence and then, one of the women tilted her head to the side and said, “You know the dressing rooms are closed now, right?” I asked, “How am I supposed to know which bra to buy? Oh, I get it. I take them home, try them on, return them, take them home and try them on again. It’s a process, right?” The ladies were delighted when my internal light bulb switched on.
I took home two of the Secret Treasures Essentials in pastel colors. When I arrived home, I put one on and did a little jig while listening to my favorite music. Then, I sat down in my favorite chair, however, things didn’t feel quite right. I looked down and noticed the cups were only half full. With delight, I discovered the bra was too large! The following day, I returned to Walmart for a smaller size. When I approached the Customer Service area, there was a male and female attendant. With the bras hiding behind my earthbag, I crossed my heart I’d be helped by the female attendant and was pleased when Lady Luck smiled on me.
I stepped forward and carefully laid the over-sized garments on the countertop only to be horrified to see the hush-hush garments covered the entire surface. I took the exchanged items home, however, they were too tight around my expanded rib cage. I returned the following day with hopes this time would be the charm. After making the exchange, I realized I tried on six different bras — at home. I didn’t need a dressing room after all!
I’m light years away from my first training bra, however, there’s cause to celebrate my motherly womanhood. Even though I’m now qualified to play a wide receiver, I love my figure and wouldn’t trade it for all of the tea in China.
I continue persevering to reach my personal best. Fortunately, Wally World is open 24-hours a day, seven days a week. It may take that long to locate a comfortable and beautiful bra.
*Thank you for sharing my stories
