It is May 7th 2012, I am sitting at my desk with my ipod plugged in to restore and refresh my music, I have a bottle of Irish Red Sam Adams and a rather large packet of Microbiology notes to memorize and know by the morning. Finals week is in full swing for me yet I sit on my blog contemplating how I should word a blog entry on the Bra shopping experience. If you ask me, this is how every college kid should spend their nights before finals at the end of a semester, relaxed and only mildly stressed about remembering all the music I want back on my ipod.
But on to the ultimate slap in the face, the story of an A cups brassiere shopping. When I got out of the shower yesterday to dawn on my clothes for the day I noticed my brassiere was in poor to severe condition. I am what they call a “one bra Betty” I don’t quite ever have enough money to go out and purchase a wardrobe or a drawer full of bras, I just don’t. Every time I walk past the brassiere section at a department store I immediately get flushed with a bright pink color. The thought of having to buy bra’s sends me into panic mode. I, at the age of 21, have yet to wonder why the thought of picking out pretty colored bras would make me panic or embarrassed, however, it does.
But I needed new bras. I walked into the local Target, a store I frequent and planned a devious sneak attack into the intimates section. Before I knew where I was, I had one bra picked out in my hand. The problem that I have with bras these days is as an A cup, a proud A cup, I don’t purchase new bras, I essentially purchase a set of breasts made of pads. I looked at all of the A cup bras, they all say either “push up bra” or “push up PLUS”. I look at the C cups and D cups and see none of this. Why must I purchase a new set of breasts? Are mine not good enough for this culture? This new question I pondered in my head distracted me from the awkward feeling up of literally all the bras in the Target intimate section and farther distracted me from the crazy looks I was getting from the other woman who seemed just a sheepish as I was when first embarking on the brassiere adventure.
I finally see myself for what I am doing, you know the feeling of each and every bra in a some what inappropriate manner and get mildly embarrassed. I quickly pick two new sets of pads of breasts, black and deep purple that have slutty lace on them and scurry to the check out lane. While in the check out lane I look the 17 year old female cashier in the face and tell her despite my purchases today, I am not a slut. She shrugs and says “credit?”, I anxiously say yes and grab my bag with my two pair of breasts made of pads and get to my car.
I never thought of myself as a flat chested lady, but with these new pads of breasts I can honestly say I keep knocking them into things on accident. To think my A cups are finally in my way from time to time, I can’t imagine what a D cup feels like.
As an A cup I have been very self conscious, in a society where the size of your boobs should be big and the size of or hips should be small, I find myself in the opposite situation. I have learned to accept this imperfect body for what it is and to be thankful I am in a semi healthy state. I even go as far to tell myself that when I’m in my forties and my lower back pain is from old age and not my boobs weighing me down, I can say thank you to my gene pool, mother, and God. What I say to the D cups of today is congratulations for getting a good gene pool.. and congratulations for gravity hating you more than me!