Not being too blessed in the old mammary region, I’ve kind of always ended up buying Bra’s that border on the “I’m not really needed” category. You know the type, pretty boring, no under wires, sadder than sad, and downright depressing for the wearer.
And so finally after feeling pretty inadequate and extremely miserable for far too long, I decided to venture into Bra shopping with a vengeance, coinciding this with a trip to the UK – why the UK? heaven knows. My parents were told in no uncertain terms that apart from visiting them I would be hitting the Bra shop. Needless to say they found this very amusing and shared this with my sisters, who equally found this to be amusing and had a bit of giggle at my expense. Hmpf, lucky for them blood is thicker than water…
Anyway I landed and within 24 hours found myself surrounded with bras of every conceivable shape and form. It was scary people, really bloody scary. Racks and racks of gorgeous and luxurious fabrics, in cup sizes I could almost live in. Honestly, some of them could have shielded me from the rain in one cup and carried my shopping in the other.
As for the colours, they were absolutely stunning. But coming from the days of “only BAD girls” show their bra straps and even “BADDER” girls wear colorful bras that will show beneath your top, I had a hard time picking up anything other than white and beige. I walked up and down, backwards and forwards and finally I delved in with a new found feeling of who gives a damn, I’m gonna try them all on, colours and all.
The only hesitation I had being the push-up bras. Yes they would have done wonders for the old cleavage, but they would most certainly have left me looking as if I’d just had a boob-job. It was a shame really, because they were amazing. No longer the rigid, heavily wired contraptions of the past, today’s push-up bit – wonderfully descriptive I know – is deliciously squashy but rather large and most probably extremely comfortable to wear.
To cut a long story short, I tried on many and came out with eight beautiful Bras that do wonders for my ego and will take pride of place in my luggage on the way home. Heaven help any baggage handlers who knick them out of my case or damage them in anyway. Law suit, hell you won’t know what’s hit you matey!
EIGHT, my husband yelled down the phone at me in disbelief. Yes darling a humble eight in a variety of shapes and colours. And might I add, if you keep yelling EIGHT at me at the beginning of every sentence you might well be wearing the old ones as ear muffs when I land…