1999 january 19

i wish victoria would share her secret

my favorite bra gave out this morning.

i had just finished a lovely breakfast of avocado, mushroom and jalapeno cheese omelet, coffee with real cream and some melon and all was right in my world: gene was watching the morning news so he could relate the day's weather forecast to me, the fish was swimming happily after eating her flaky breakfast and i had plenty of time to get dressed before heading into the office. i skipped into the bathroom hoping to find my bra flung in one of the corners and voila!, there it was. picked it up and immediately noticed something was not right; one of the cups was hanging at a strange angle.

the underwire had snapped in half.

to say i was highly annoyed might be the understatement of the century. not only was it my favorite bra, it was the only one that fit really well. i am, how shall we say this delicately, well-endowed. and while this is indeed the stuff of adolescent boys' fantasy, a frat house's dream come true, it is also a nightmare when shopping for something to contain the abundance.

there are plenty of bras out there in my size, but i am of the belief most are designed by either 1]. a plastic surgeon who only sees breasts that are firm enough to bounce quarters off of or 2]. completely delusional men who have no idea that these breasts we women carry around actually weigh more than air. there are beautiful lacy, colorful, sexy bras in my size and each and every one of these flimsy pieces of lingerie have a strap about 1/1000 of an inch wide, made out of the skinniest, weakest elastic known to man. if you don't believe me, take a gander at the photo montage over there; those bras and their tiny straps are straight from victoria's secret bra collection, the full figured division.

the real secret in victoria's world is how she expects them to hold up a set of 40dd's.

the bras in my size with a more reasonable strap tend toward the ugly. the really, really, looks like some sort of industrial straitjacket ugly. and they are always white. white white white. the beautiful broken wired bra had been an exception -- a pale pink, barely there floral with wide straps and the cutest little cutout in the middle giving the lucky few a peak at the cleavage from both above and below.

i found it at target, of all places, but when i went back to buy more, they didn't have any. every time i go to the damn store i look but still, no more perfect bras. prior to now, it was merely an annoyance but it has become something of a tragedy. i hate bra shopping. gene hates me when i am bra shopping. salespeople hate me when i am bra shopping. if they could just knock me out in the changing room, take all the necessary measurements, fit me with fabulous bra and then send me on my groggy way, i'd pay for it.

i'd pay a lot.

struggling to stay contained, claire