( ...but then y'all already knew THIS, too )
Saturday's Featured Outing was a trip to that place that was on Oprah that figures out your proper bra size (and no, I do not sit around here watching daytime telly all day, I picked this info up from somebody's LJ a while back). Surprisingly, I was actually wearing the right band size; the cup size, however, well, let's just say no wonder I was having trouble breathing in the sports bra. I've never thought of myself as particularly busty, except when I smash one of the damn things into/under something (my left nipple has a death wish), so I was more than a little nonplussed when I noted which poundage category the tag on the winning sample had placed Whomper and Misabel into. The shop is having to send to another branch to obtain this marvel of engineering in a color I can live with myself wearing (their "Nude" mostly only highlighted my skin's Perdue-yellow undertones, and pink lace was right out), and I will be set back $56 when I slink in to claim it, but for the sake of improved oxygen intake, I suppose I can live with the possibility of guys suddenly taking a heightened interest in my vast collection of witty t-shirts. It's not as if they'd have been talking to my face before, after all.
Saturday's Featured Outing was a trip to that place that was on Oprah that figures out your proper bra size (and no, I do not sit around here watching daytime telly all day, I picked this info up from somebody's LJ a while back). Surprisingly, I was actually wearing the right band size; the cup size, however, well, let's just say no wonder I was having trouble breathing in the sports bra. I've never thought of myself as particularly busty, except when I smash one of the damn things into/under something (my left nipple has a death wish), so I was more than a little nonplussed when I noted which poundage category the tag on the winning sample had placed Whomper and Misabel into. The shop is having to send to another branch to obtain this marvel of engineering in a color I can live with myself wearing (their "Nude" mostly only highlighted my skin's Perdue-yellow undertones, and pink lace was right out), and I will be set back $56 when I slink in to claim it, but for the sake of improved oxygen intake, I suppose I can live with the possibility of guys suddenly taking a heightened interest in my vast collection of witty t-shirts. It's not as if they'd have been talking to my face before, after all.