Getting fitted

Why did the peacock cross the road? Hey, I wasn’t going to post a photo of my new bra! This is Percy the Calverley peacock

Well blow me down and call me Cupcake. What’s the odds of something I’ve been wearing every day for decades being the wrong size? As it turns out, pretty high, eight out of ten women are wearing ill-fitting bras. Today, I found out I was one of them.

Bra buying is a minefield, there’s so much choice involving wire, stretchy lace and memory foam. There’s balcony, plunge, deep plunge, tee-shirt, halter-neck and strapless and that’s before we start talking about sizes. Cups work through the alphabet, I thought they stopped at C. Nope, they go to L, may be LL, all I can say is, bloody hell. Sometimes it’s just easiest to grab and go, hoping for the best, fiddling with the fastening, settling the straps with a safety pin, maybe adding a couple of cotton wool balls to fill any voids in the memory foam.

I had to buy replacements for the white bra I’d washed with a red scarf. How come the colour never covers uniformly? How come my bra looks like raspberry ripple ice cream? Anyway, that’s in the bin now, along with the memory foam bra that seems to have forgotten what it was there for. Evidently a bra should never have a birthday, well, mine were born in the leap year.

So today was the day, it was either that or I just had to wear my sports bras, which really is not an option for more than a couple of hours at a time, that elastic really is powerful.

A very helpful young lady sporting a scary tape measure with metal eyelets advised me to relax, it wasn’t going to hurt. I closed my eyes, I didn’t want to see the numbers, especially if they were in centimetres, they always look scarily big. As it turned out the numbers were smaller – hoorah! – but the cup size was bigger. Much bigger. I was shocked. Horrified, even, it meant I was qualified to gain entry to Bravissimo, a shop I’ve never entered before, because I thought it was for Big Women, not me, I’m a Medium Woman. Again, another boobie fact, 40 per cent of UK women are D cup and above.

So I’ve entered a new world where I’m in a minority who wear properly-fitted bras and I need never have saggy straps again. It actually feels quite good!


One thought on “Getting fitted

  1. Helen Hammond

    Knowing you’re a glam girl a raspberry ripple bra sounds just you but perhaps not raspberry ripple chafed nipples. I seem to have gone from a 34A to 34AA and between that I think they became melons,watermelons due to breastfeeding….. Back to 34A, then 34 B now 36A …no weight change ,no nipple tassels,just me ….is it me??? I’ve actually got a cleavage and the confidence to show it but perhaps not the age to do that now without people wincing in disgust… Ah the joys for bosoms and don’t get me started on mammograms you have to be a contortionist as well as having a sense of humour ,knowing your left from your right whilst patting your head and rubbing your tummy and that machine was obviously invented by a man …. And my little boobs have to be stretched ,tugged and squished whilst holding my breath and nodding everything is ok to a 5 year old scanner nurse. Still it has to be done and it makes bra fitting seem joyful by comparison…. Neither are fun . Saggy elastic and droopy cups just don’t cut it….and did you see the sewing bee??? How to make a bra.. I mean ,come on…it’s entertaining but how many people do you know make their own bras… Stick pins in your eyeballs or have a mammogram…. But watching how to make a bra….. Really??? I’m losing the will to live …anyway my ad year old bra is still looking good, grubby but good …and comfy ….

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