Bras, Abercrombie, & Other Secrets

Let me say up front that I hate shopping for bras. Hate it. To me, the only upside of shopping at Victoria's Secret is buying cute pajamas (a new pair of which I am wearing at this very moment. V. comfy.) For years I just wore little tank top things (think of training bras) and called it good.

Yesterday, finally accepting the fact that, no, my favorite beige bra did not disappear into the ether; it was, in fact, taken by those nice people who took everything else that belonged to me and rifled through my lingerie drawer in the process. I also finally accepted that my favorite black bra is, in fact, too big. So, Victoria's Secret it was.

The women who work at VS love to do bra fittings. Love it. I think if I were a lesbian, the first place I'd put in my application would be at VS. I tell the first lady exactly which bra I want and in what colors. She says she should really do a fitting first to determine my size. I know my size (see above re: black bra too big). I tell her I know my size. I tell her my size. She whips out her pink tape measure and tells me to hold out my arms. What she really says is, "Hold out your arms as if you were going to fly."

I hold out my arms as if I were going to fly.

She does her special measuring then tells me my size. Which I already knew was my size. I backtrack and tell her that I usually wear one of the Angels and describe it. She squints at me a bit, this bunned, bespectacled lady, and says, "I think you're going to love our padded push-up bras." Because, you know, my self-confidence needed a boost.

She proceeds to bring me a BOX of bras. Every push-up, padded bra that VS offers. I cave only in that the two I walk out with are not the ones I walked in to get, but I do not get these ridiculous padded things she thinks I will love. I don't believe in pretending. I make myself feel better by buying ridiculously cute, comfortable pajamas.

I go back out into the mall.

I decide (for some unknown reason) that it's time to give Abercrombie & Fitch another shot after my v. long boycott. Perhaps I am influenced by doe-eyed, perfect-skinned, previously-mentioned A&F manager. I meander through. I survey the other shoppers, the workers, the posters. I am reminded that I am much too old to shop at Abercrombie; I remind myself of their cruelty-to-bunnies t-shirt; I reflect briefly on the fact that Evan used to simply call me "Abercrombie."

I walk out.

I go to Banana. I fit right in. Perhaps this is why I'm a Luxe member. Perhaps this is why a couple of days ago I got the "Because you're one of our most valued customers, we've increased your spending limit" letter. I reflect briefly on receiving and celebrating said Luxe card and Joel's saying, "You know that just means you've spent a ridiculous amount of money at Banana Republic, right?"

I walk out.

I go to The Gap and buy maternity clothes for my sister.