I Have a Brablem (Part Two)

If you missed the first installment of “A Tale of Two Titties” start here.

I barely had time to read the poster propaganda before Nicole was back in the room, honing in on my breasts.

“I’ll fasten them for you in the interest of time.  Slip this on.”

I pulled the swankiest straps I’d ever seen over my shoulders and waited for Nicole to strap me in.

“Should I be able to breathe in this thing?”

“Your bra was far too lose.  This is just right.  I promise.”

*wheeze, wheeze*

As my boobs were eye level for the petite Nicole, she had a tendency to stick her face in my cleavage as she analyzed fit.  “May I?” she asked with her hands poised inches from my chest.

“Um. Yes?” I replied.  “You’re the boss.”

Her pudgy little fingers were suddenly inside the cups, pulling my flesh this way and that.  I cursed our decision to schedule the bra fitting before dinner and cocktails.  “We just need to pull you in a little here on the sides.  Oh, make sure your nipples are centered.”

“I prefer my nipples justified.”


“Nothing.  Am I supposed to be spilling over the top like this?”

“Do the windshield wiper,” she instructed.

“Is that like the running man?” I asked.  Suddenly she hooked her index fingers into the low v of the bra and pulled them up and out towards the straps.  “I’ll take that as a no.”

“It looks fantastic,” she cooed.

“It feels like a torture device,” I responded.

“Well, your current bra is far too loose.  To be fair though, this one is a little too tight.  Why don’t you take it off so you aren’t miserable, and I’ll go grab a selection of similar sizes for you to try.”  She snatched the bra from my hand and left.

And there I stood.  Just me and the girls.  Hanging.  All alone.  With the weird disposable thongs provided for those trying on panties.  Who knew?  I crossed my arms and tried to fashion my own support.  Seventeen hours later, Nicole returned.

“Are you excited?” she asked, blinking her lashes and bouncing her blond pony tail wildly.  Clearly all she needed was a few moments away from my spirit sucking bra ignorance to recover her original level of excitement.

“I am giddy in anticipation,” I replied, arms wide to receive whatever minimal coverage she was willing to offer me.

“How about this purple lace number?  I think this bra is just beautiful.  It also come is chartreuse and we have matching panties.”

“Nicole, I’m kind of a basic t-shirt bra kinda gal.  The most exciting color I own is baby pink.”  I watched her face fall.  For a moment, I worried where she might wipe her nose as she stared up at me between my boobs.  “…and that’s why I’m so excited to try on some crazy purple demi number covered entirely in lace and bows!”

Nicole flashed her white teeth as her face exploded into a smile three times her size.  Seconds later I was practicing my windshield wiper move and wondering how I could escape the dressing room without causing a scene.

Forty-five minutes later, I gathered the bizarre collection of lace and foam in my arms and headed to the register.  It turns out I’m stacked, Interwebz.  I’m rockin’ a 34 D – a far cry from the 36 B I’ve been wearing.  Only in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the show room floor did I look at the prices.  “Holy Mother of God,” I whispered to my girlfriend.  “Is this what people really pay for bras?  Do you have any idea how many bottles of wine I could buy instead of this bra?”  I shook a turquoise lace number in her face as I estimated the total in my head.  “Fuck me.”

“But how do your boobs feel?” she asked.

“Like the boobs of a fifteen year old girl,” I replied.  She smiled mockingly and stroked her fire engine red purchase.  I looked down at my boobs.  “I’m sorry if I ever hurt you, ladies.  I didn’t mean it.”

“Would you like to see the matching panties?” asked Nicole a.k.a. Bernie Madoff.

I sighed heavily remembering the elastic string hanging down my thigh, underneath my jeans.  “I suppose.”

Back in the dressing room, I decided to forgo the disposable thong and try the lace boy shorts over top of my granny panties.  After examining the polyester content and frightening profile, I decided I didn’t want to spend over $100 per pantie for guaranteed crotch rot.  Somehow I still ended up with a ridiculous thong amongst the pile of my future purchases.

The next sentence is harder for me to type than you can ever possibly imagine.  I spent more on my bras than I did on Phillip.  Let’s say that again – my outing at Intimacy cost more than my new Mac.


*regains consciousness*

*rereads last paragraph*

*faints again*

Every frugal fiber of my being is screaming in protest.  I’m fighting the urge to wrap those lace impostors of treasury bonds up in their purple scented tissue paper, throw myself at that bewitching blond’s feet, and beg her to refund my money.  That’s why each and every bra I purchased still has all their tags attached – even though I’ve already worn all but two of them out of the house.  It’s hard to evaluate the comfort level of a bra with a hard piece of card stock in your armpit.  Also, my t-shirts lay awkwardly over the little booklets on how to care for your new bra that cling to the shoulder straps.

After all this trauma, I’m abandoning all plans to purchase panties.  I’ll worry about those in another five years.


  1. I feel violated FOR you. However the incredible side effect of all this handling is that you have teenage boobs that stand up and salute. I ENVY you.
    Also, never underestimate the grand comfort of the granny panties. My fashion forward friends may have shuddered when I wore them under my low rise jeans creating a disaterous spectacle for the world, but I swear by them and the love they give me.
    Also, they can be used as a parachute if your plane is going down.
    .-= Kelly´s last blog ..Jolie Finally Snaps and Throws One of Her Thirty Kids in the Drink =-.

  2. 34D!!! you should be nipdazzling! if i had funbags like that i’d spend a small fortune on them, too. those girls deserve a lace pedestal. no wonder nicole was bouncing off the walls with a lovely like you to dress.

    i like my nipples justfied – bwahahaha!
    .-= patty punker´s last blog ..10 dont’s of group fitness class =-.

  3. Ok, I think these bra stores are just scheme to get women to spend a lot of money. Do they wear these armored undergarments in Europe? My cotton knit pull-on style bras would give your little salesgirl an infarction. Does all the lace make your tops look bumpy? I need more.
    .-= Carrie Meadows´s last blog ..Easter Bunnies Are Skeery… =-.

  4. Girl! We can totally share bras! Or wait . . . that’s weird isn’t it? I just mean we wear the same size. And I only discovered that was my true size after a similar true fitting. Shit. Doesn’t it suck to be a woman sometimes? All the maintenance required for the boobs and the vag. Really. We should get a subsidy just for all the extra upkeep we must pay for. Between bras and vag-bedazzling, it just gets to be too much.
    .-= Andrea´s last blog .."Vacation" =-.

  5. I’m so proud of you. Now take the tags off. As for the bras costing more than Philip, how do your beautiful sweater kittens look being supported by Philip? Just sayin…… Tags. Off. Now. Next month, we will discuss the granny panties (shaking head)
    .-= Wicked Shawn´s last blog ..Wicked Delicious Morning =-.

  6. Yay for new bras! Boo for the price! However, since you bought several and can revolve usage they should last longer. One word of advice…do not tumble dry. Hang dry! Otherwise those cups get all snarky and have dents in weird places. Not good. Welcome to “D” world. Take those girls to the bar and see who buys them a drink!!


    PS- don’t you just love confusing people like perky Nicole??
    .-= Spot´s last blog ..Friends, family and revenge… =-.

  7. Stab that perky bitch Nicole in the face. Grrr just reading about her makes me stabbity.
    That is why I am glad I am a guy. Hell, I don’t even wear underwear. TMI?
    .-= mepsipax´s last blog ..Looking for love =-.

  8. And this is why I HATE buying bras.
    “Justified” *L* unfortunately I was drinking when I got to that comment… can you say- clean your monitor? 🙂
    .-= Barb´s last blog ..revelation =-.

  9. So I have been reading ALL of these posts for like an hour because I am sloooow.

    I am afraid to go have my real size checked out because they are going to tell me something aweful…like ‘even though you didn’t check the pendulous breast box…you So TOTALLY have them’ that is when the killing spree starts.
    .-= A Vapid Blonde´s last blog ..Mongolian Death Worms and Shankings =-.

  10. Damn Marymac stole my favorite again!

    Go write more Genius lines so I can finally pick one as my favorite before she does!!!

    So many bras did you go home with? At least your girls are standing up and saluting now. And 34D is indeed impressive Good thing we girls don’t compare boob size like men do their dicks. (Do they actually? I always imagine they do…) I would pay that much to get the right fit and right size so that my husb will not be able to suggest that my increase in bra size is because of my back fat.

  11. Damn woman, you are stacked! How did you shove the girls into such a small space for that long? I’m a strict Victoria’s Secret Semi-Annual Sale shopper myself. Perhaps I like my Mac better than my boobies.
    .-= Harna´s last blog ..Diary of a Standing Shit Slinger =-.

  12. So I one time went to my favourite video store (now defunct) and asked the woman there, this total goth woman who scares the pants off of me she’s so cool and there’s that but … (breathe) I told her I was a bit strung out on one too many horrific events happening in my life and an unexpected two days by myself while my family visited Portland and one of my best friends without me because my travel documents were APPARENTLY out of order. (I know, this comment thus far makes no sense, whatsoever, but I was interblogjumping here at buggin’ world, so stick with me.) Anyway I asked this goddess of darkness for a movie that would make me laugh my ass off and another that would make me cry like a baby. Long story short, she gave me some esoteric british film that she swore would make me weep, and Zack and Miri Make a Porno, which was supposed to make me laugh. I watched the first and … meh. I watched the second and laughed pretty hard, you know, the kinds of chuckles you feel weird about because you are by yourself but you can’t stop? But then, there was this one scene where I started to cry. And I just cried and cried and cried and, well. Cried. I think I had to pause the video, I cried so hard.

    This post, this silly post about bra fitting [and I’ve been fitted by the best: an eastern European woman for whom I performed bra-fitting services in Hong Kong for $$, oh she was stern, as well as for myself, so I could relate to every moment of your experience (except where you actually bought more than one bra!)]. So I was laughing, and I’m in this hotel room with a beautiful view and three peaceful children sleeping in a king sized bed and plans of swimming tomorrow, laughing that laugh that starts off real low in the belly, and bubbles up. Laughing a silent laugh that wants to be big and boisterous and loud but that could ruin everything about the chances I’ll go to bed before midnight so it is painfully silent. And that laughter, in the third paragraph from the bottom? Turns to those same tears, those tears, those tears.

    I think it was the order I came to this post from: the one where you tell us that you’re proly having a c-section tomorrow, to get that Paul out but also to check a growth on your ovary. To listening to you sing, first one beautiful song to a friend who’s birthday coincides with her anniversary. Those beautiful comforting notes that I can play despite the children sleeping, knowing that it will only help ease them even deeper into the slumber they so need. To the nursery pics, gratuitous and divine, and the seasons, turn turn turn to your grandfather. Maybe that was the start, which led me to the woman writer who lost her battle to cancer, the same cancer that killed her mom, and the fact that people want to talk about your baby coming but won’t talk about death.

    Which brought me to the bra fitting.

    Funny how just rethinking it all brings me to glorious tears again. You are one in a million, gazillion, trazillion, Elly. So forgive me for this long rambling email, these thoughts of mass appreciation for your total awesomeness. I’m so lucky to have met Joules, to then have found your blog. For tonight I laughed so silently hard that it brought me to true and cleansing tears. And tears are hard to come by but oh, so necessary. So thank you. And happy birthing tomorrow. I will be thinking about you. And your parasite. Who can only be filled with the awesomeness that is you.

Comments are closed.