The grass is always greener

Fair warning, this is a post about bras.



Don't say I didn't warn you.


When I look back at the bony, flat chested girl I used to be, I envy her. But when I happened to BE her, I wanted to have bigger ta ta's. It just seemed like it would be better. WRONG.

Back in the day, I could have easily rolled out of bed, noticed there was no clean laundry and made it through the day without a second thought. No one was going to notice.

These days, no clean laundry incites panic, a search for duct tape, elastic, and cardboard to fashion an emergency replacement. (Not a great one, either.)

So today, after taking the measurements meant to ensure a great fit, I realized I had been wearing the wrong size. So wrong. That means shopping, which is a dreaded, evil enterprise. I took every version of my new true size into that dressing room. I looked on in horror as I realized people actually wear these things AND pay over $30 for them. What the heck. There is also a humbling effect to being trapped in a bra. There is no help to be had then.

After the futile trip, I sat in my car to think.

I have options:
A) surgical removal--- a bit risky, expensive, permanent.
B) go hippie--- I have always aspired to be more hippie than I am. But what if I have to run?
C)a membership to the Y--- my husbands suggestion, not appreciated I might add.
D) keep looking for the magical, mythical, perfect fitting bra

So many wasted years wishing for these things. Maybe I can put them on Ebay.