Tuesday, October 17, 2006
It's time to call out Victoria's Secret.
I have a rather large chest--large enough that my sports bras need to be designed by MIT engineers to really do the job, large enough that (looking on the bright side) my stomach looks fairly small by comparison, large enough that if I were a pirate, my shipmates would call me Boobs Madrid.
I wear a 34DD, so I'm not quite into the bras so big that you can wear them as hats (as my friend Caitlin and I used to do to annoy her mom and older sister when we all went bra shopping) territory, but did you know that double D, in the bra world, is technically an E, and gosh I really don't want to talk about it.
I am a girl who just always needs a bra. Victoria's Secret sells a lot of bras. You could say they specialize in bras. They even put their bras in futuristic commercials and claim that they are the most scientifically advanced products ever created (I've gotta side with that Japanese machine that translates dog barks to English, but that's just me). It seems then, that Victoria's Secret and I would have a great, mutually beneficial relationship. I need bras. They sell bras.
You see, Victoria's Secret abides by a Separate But Equal bra stocking policy that pains me to no end. They display all their most gorgeous bras in B and C cups (my readers have informed me that A cups face the same discrimination) on those fabulous little pink satin hangers. Every time I go in there, I look through every single one of these hangers, and, of course, never find anything close to my size. So I ask a sales associate, and this happens:
"Hi. I'm looking for the Ipex NASA Double-Tech Mercury bra but I don't see one in my size."
"Okay, what size are you?"
"Oh. Oh my..."
"It's just that, well, we keep bras of that size in...the drawers."
This happens every time. The sales girl then leads me over to the gorgeous satin hanger display, crouches down below it into the dusty, cobwebbed Victoria's Secret catacombs, opens one of the drawers and hands me my desired brassiere, careful not to handle it for too long lest she catch whatever mutated me into the big-boobed freakshow that I am.
Let me tell you, by this time, even if the bra could translate canine sounds to simple English, I wouldn't be interested.