Today we’re going to talk about boobs. Bear with me. I have a point about dating, and I will make it eventually, but I am asking the court for a bit of leniency in getting there. You in? Of course you are, everyone loves boobs.
Recently Miss November and I went to happy hour at Chuy’s. If you don’t live near a Chuy’s, it is a magical place that has half-price margaritas and free nachos from 4-7pm on weekdays. Basically- Heaven. An hour or so of girl talk, two margaritas each and a good buzz later, we decided to walk it off in the mall since I needed to do some shopping anyway (which is generally the case when you put me near a mall).
One of the items on my list was a new strapless bra. I know the girls will understand me, here. Finding a good strapless bra is like trying to spot Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. You know it’s out there somewhere, but you just might die trying to find this mythical creature. I’d already bought and returned a few (where was this place when I needed it?). My search led us to a very popular seller of underthings-some lady with a secret? You know the place. I don’t think I need to give it any free publicity. Fairly quickly a helpful salesgirl, Christy, approached us and offered me a “fitting.” Normally when a complete stranger wants to feel me up for free, I have the good sense to say no or at least try to get dinner out of it. But since I’d already had dinner AND two margaritas, I was obviously now willing to star in a real-live version of that song, “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off.” The initial “over the shirt” fitting that she performed right there in the middle of the store (in front of God and everyone) had me a bit skeptical, right from the get-go. You see, this very forward saleslady proceeded to tell me that my correct bra size was actually two cup sizes larger than the one I was wearing at that exact moment. Now, I’m about to go a little TMI on you here (I’ll try to avoid specifics, if that helps make this less uncomfortable). In terms of “T&A” my friends, my womanly assets have always been -ahem- seated in the “A” camp, rather than the “T” if you catch my drift. “Um, I am pretty sure that’s not right. You can see that these are not $%^s, right?” I peered downward at my chest to make sure we were both looking at the same boobs. After telling her the size I normally wear, she still refused to back down too much, telling me something about the shape of your breasts, etc., and prepared to hustle me back to the fitting room for further boob-humiliation. But not before she offered Miss November a fitting of her very own. “Do it! Do it!” I peer-pressured her, because I’m a good friend (and also because we’d had two margaritas, and everything seems like a good idea when you’ve had a little alcohol). After taking her measurements and then counting on her fingers to get the results of what must be a very complicated bra-size math equation, Christy, who had already gotten farther with me than any of my recent dates, announced Miss November’s results. “Oh my God. That’s too big! But probably right- I do have some spillage going on here,” Miss November conceded, the attention now on her chest rather than mine, as her assets have always been more “T” than “A”. So after getting the great news that we now both had drawerfuls of the wrong size bras, I finally progressed to the fitting room to try and find my perfect fit. At this stage, a different boob wrangler, Shelley, took over- this time, for the under-the-shirt fitting in the privacy of my own little 4×4 pink prison cell.
Shelley handed me a few things to try so we could get a “baseline” (I talked Christy into letting me just try one cup size up rather than the two she initially measured for me) and told me to “buzz” her when I was ready for an evaluation. So I stripped down, and Miss November decided to give her husband (we’ll call him OH, for her “other half”) the “good” news about her new bigger bra size via text message. Meanwhile, I got all strapped in to the first choice- the size I have worn for years and thought would be right- and buzzed my new best friend Shelley (if someone is going to see you naked and touch your boobs, it helps to think of them as your BFF). After lots of poking, prodding, and adjusting, Shelley informs me that the band is the right fit, she can fit two fingers inside it comfortably (I’m not even kidding!) but it’s not too loose either. But she’s a little concerned that I’m spilling out just a bit on the sides. Folks, this has never been my problem. I’m starting to wonder if they are now using “vanity sizing” in bras. So Shelley leaves me to try on the next size up. As I’m working on that, I ask Miss November what OH said about her boobs because now she was sitting there laughing. “He said, ‘Embrace them. I do.’ ” Heehee, that OH, he’s sooo funny. We giggled and I buzzed Shelley for my next inspection, even though I already knew: I had found the Perfect Fit. “That’s the right one,” Miss November told me. Maybe it was the influence of tequila? Had I really found it? She was right, it was the right one. No spillage, snug yet comfortable, it was my Holy Grail of strapless bras. Shelley agreed, and wrote the info about my size and what I tried on in a little card to “keep in my wallet” as if this little “experience” will be so easy to forget (lol).
So…what did this teach me about dating? (Told you I’d get to the point eventually. What, you forgot there was a point? Well, there is. So stop thinking about my boobs.)
I learned few things, actually. In life we’re always searching for the Perfect Fit. Whether it be a partner, a job, a pair of jeans, or the perfect shade of lipstick, we’re always looking for “the one” that’s better than all the rest and makes us feel great about ourselves. Perfection can be rather elusive, though. It’s hard to find, whether you are looking for a great shoe or a great man. It may require lots of time, patience, and being open to trying something different. Dating definitely fits that description! A Perfect Fit doesn’t just make you look good… it makes you feel good, from the inside out. The power of a great pair of jeans, or finding your perfect hairstyle, or a dress that fits you just right… it instantly boosts your self-confidence in a way that other people notice. Am I right, ladies? In the end it is worth it because you look great, feel great, and got exactly what you wanted.
The Perfect Fit isn’t always exactly what you were looking for in the first place. I have never bought a bra in this cup size in my life, and I am still not convinced that it’s truly “my size” but it fit anyway so I went with it. In a similar way, I’ve tried to say “yes” to going out with guys who might not be exactly what I consider to be my “type” because I am hoping to be surprised. After all, I’m over thirty and still single. So, maybe I’ve been looking for the wrong thing or in the wrong places, and I keep trying on the same size that isn’t actually right for me. Like Miss November’s OH, sometimes you just have to be willing to enthusiastically Embrace It. Like a shirt that doesn’t have much hanger appeal but then looks great on, I may meet a guy who doesn’t seem like he’d fit me very well at first but once I “try him on” I might find he’s actually a Perfect Fit. Or maybe not. But isn’t that half the fun of shopping, trying to find something cute?
Dating and shopping are actually very similar. Except I was born to do one of those things, not so much the other. I’m a great shopper- it’s true. Ask anyone who knows me well. If you can’t find something you’re shopping for, put me on the case. I will find it! You’d think online dating would be right up my alley- after all, it’s basically an online man store. Punch in your search criteria, sift through the results, and find your ideal husband- at a great bargain too! Yeah, I guess the human element complicates that a little bit. When I put that perfect pair of shoes in my shopping cart, they don’t have a choice- they are coming home with me. And if they hurt my feet, I can just return them- money back guarantee. “Shopping” for a date isn’t quite that easy. The “shoes” can decide they’d rather stay at the store (or go home with someone else instead), and getting rid of a bad purchase isn’t as easy as just hanging on to your receipt. These “shoes” have feelings. Makes everything slightly more complicated. I mean, I never feel bad when a sweater or a dress doesn’t work out and I have to send it back to the store. Breaking up with clothes is so easy.
Just like I will never give up trying to find the perfect nail polish/mascara/little black dress, I’ll keep shopping around for the Perfect Guy. He may not be perfect, but he’ll be perfect for me. A Perfect Fit. And, if he needs some advice on how to win me over, I’ll suggest he start with two margaritas…it sure worked for the ladies selling me a bra.
Disclosure: The link to True and Co. is my personal link and if you sign up with it, I will earn free stuff. However, True and Co. did not sponsor this post about boobs and bras, nor do they know me, nor did they ask me to endorse their product. I just found the site and thought it was a cool way to shop for bras, and would help avoid the traumatic elements of bra shopping (strange ladies feeling you up) like the ones that transpired above. Alas, I did not find True and Co. until after my own incident; lucky for you, readers.