The Dreaded Bra Shopping Experience
At least once a year I drag myself kicking and screaming to a store to get new bras. (I know, I know, I should probably do it even more often that that.) But to me, bra shopping is a nightmare!
The first mistake I made was going to a department store. At least if I had gone to a smaller place, or a place that specializes in bras, someone would have helped me and once I was in the dressing room someone else could have run out to get me more sizes and styles. But then you’re looking at a higher expense.
So I went where I went, and when I reached the bra section, it might as well have been a giant corn maze…the kind in the horror movies where you enter at your own risk and never find your way back out. There were aisles and rows and sections and MILES of bras. THOUSANDS. My eyes started to glaze over.
As I walked through each section, reading about “smoothness”, “lift”, “comfort”, and wire vs. underwire, I was overwhelmed with choices. So I started throwing them all in my cart, ’til I approached somewhere near 40 bras and realized it would take forever to try them all on if I added any more.
So I get to the dressing room, and now it’s already taken me an hour to figure out what to try on and track down my size, and I start trying on. But once you take those pesky things off the hangers, and then adjust the straps, you can never, ever, get them back on the hanger in the same nifty way that the retailers seem to. After grappling with just the first one, I realized this wasn’t gonna be pretty.
So I just hung the rejects off of one side of the hanger in the only way I could (it was bad enough I was trying them on…I didn’t have a half hour per bra to perfectly get it back ON the hanger…sorry you poor store employees who have that terrible job!)
After bra three I realized that…surprise….NOTHING fits the same. Each brand seems to have their own definition for my size. All over the map. And nothing fits right.
After bra four I realize I need to get different sizes. So I get dressed, leave everything except my pocketbook, and go back out into the fray.
Back to the dressing room. After bra 8 I am sweating, my heart is pounding, and I’m STARVING. I really hadn’t planned on it taking HOURS to get a D*&% bra and I hadn’t eaten anything in forever. My state of mind was fragile. I looked at the giant pile still to go…
…and turned around and walked out. Wasn’t worth a panic attack, for crying out loud!
Sigh. Maybe another day.