![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bloodyrosemccoyThe other day I suffered from Total Bra Blowout,* necessitating a trip to the mall (on Labor Day—a thing that should be avoided if at all possible). I’ve leveled up in Bra Size, apparently. The only thing to do was to buy a stack of new ones, including a purple one that I think is reinforced enough to count as “scaffolding” rather than “lingerie.”
And I tellya, it’s amazing how a new bra makes all the difference, by which I mean that it arranges things just so that my boobs are always in my visual field. They just lurk down there until I move, and then my survival instincts are like “WHOA WHAT’S THAT IS IT LIONS oh never mind it’s just the great prow of this vessel” and then I am all confused because my survival instincts have mixed their metaphors. It’s like when I get a haircut and spend the next few days jumping every time I pass a mirror.
Also, I hate it when people refer to breasts as “the girls.” The saleslady kept doing that and it was driving me bonkers. I anthropomorphize a lot of things, but boobs aren’t on the list.
Anyway, the most entertaining part of the actual buying was that Dad had come with Mom and me to the mall, and so in order to find us after buying whatever the hell he needed, he had to brave the Dillard’s Underwear Dungeon. He spent a lot of time muttering about the impossibility that all the bras around him would get sold. After all, how many women could there be in Salt Lake City?**
“Oh, they sell,” the saleslady assured us. “Why, I myself have a hundred bras!”
“All lined up in your closet?” I asked.
“In my dresser.”
“How do you even keep track?” Dad asked.
I think even without ladies like her skewing the average, though, there’s probably high turnover in the Underwear Dungeon. Total Bra Blowout can strike anywhere, at any time, and you’ve got to have somewhere to go when it does.
tl;dr
*Turns out buying all your bras at once leads to them all expiring at once. Damn.
**Insert obligatory Utah female-to-male ratio joke here.
And I tellya, it’s amazing how a new bra makes all the difference, by which I mean that it arranges things just so that my boobs are always in my visual field. They just lurk down there until I move, and then my survival instincts are like “WHOA WHAT’S THAT IS IT LIONS oh never mind it’s just the great prow of this vessel” and then I am all confused because my survival instincts have mixed their metaphors. It’s like when I get a haircut and spend the next few days jumping every time I pass a mirror.
Also, I hate it when people refer to breasts as “the girls.” The saleslady kept doing that and it was driving me bonkers. I anthropomorphize a lot of things, but boobs aren’t on the list.
Anyway, the most entertaining part of the actual buying was that Dad had come with Mom and me to the mall, and so in order to find us after buying whatever the hell he needed, he had to brave the Dillard’s Underwear Dungeon. He spent a lot of time muttering about the impossibility that all the bras around him would get sold. After all, how many women could there be in Salt Lake City?**
“Oh, they sell,” the saleslady assured us. “Why, I myself have a hundred bras!”
“All lined up in your closet?” I asked.
“In my dresser.”
“How do you even keep track?” Dad asked.
I think even without ladies like her skewing the average, though, there’s probably high turnover in the Underwear Dungeon. Total Bra Blowout can strike anywhere, at any time, and you’ve got to have somewhere to go when it does.
tl;dr
*Turns out buying all your bras at once leads to them all expiring at once. Damn.
**Insert obligatory Utah female-to-male ratio joke here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-09-08 06:47 pm (UTC)