I was trying to buy a new bra but I couldn’t find one that fit. I realised that I didn’t actually know what bra size I was, and that there was only one solution. I had to go to Smith and Caughey’s and get fitted properly by an old lady with a tape measure.
The last time I was properly fitted for a bra was when I was about 11 and I underwent the highly traumatic process of being dragged along to the D.I.C. department store in Hamilton and being declared a 10AA and given a hideous flesh-tone slingshot/bra.
It was slightly better this time, though still not one of those really rad things that happens in life. It turned out I’d had the chest size wrong. I’d been going bigger, but I should have been going smaller, to a 14. (And, yeah, a lady does not reveal her cup size, etc).
Now that I know my proper bra size I can now go and buy bras that fit. No more ill fitting cups, or bits digging in or bagging out where they shouldn’t. How incredibly novel it is to actually have a bra that totally fits properly. Highly recommended.
I was also out looking for a nice top to wear to this wedding reception/cocktail party thing I’m going to on Sunday. It was utterly traumatic because etiquette rules that ones does not wear black to a wedding, but that black is entirely appropriate for a cocktail party.
I tried on a bunch of tops and realised that now matter how discounted they were, the pregnant westie chick look was never in and will never be in.
It’s also alarming to see all the red, black and red and black clothes. It’s like that Girls Aloud video has been blown up and scattered amongst the chain stores of Aotearoa. This is one of those trends that’s come in and gone right out again in the UK. Therefore I can not bring myself to partake in it in this country. Besides, black and red are (along with turquoise) those colours that look really bad on me.
(Oh, it’s so hard being a girl.)
In the end I decided that I need a new pair of running shoes more than I need some crappy top.