Stop right now...

...if you are at all squeamish about bras and what they contain. Mine in particular. If this thought alarms you, stop reading. Now.

So I've been dreading this particular shopping trip for months, but I really couldn't put it off any longer. I've been busting (haha) out of my bras for a while now, but I have been in denial. Oh, how I miss denial. Denial, it was a warm, quiet, safe place.

But noooooo, I was feeling crappy and depressed when I left work, so I thought, let's just roll with it - go shopping for jeans and bras. Can't get much worse!

Oh intuitive reader, you can already see where this is going, can't you?

At first all was well, in fact I actually found two pairs of jeans I didn't hate -- in less than an hour. So, yay! I took a deep breath and headed across the aisle to the bra section. Now, when I mentioned to a friend recently that I needed to buy bras, she responded with an astounding "Oh, FUN!" I sat in shocked silence, not getting it. Then I got it -- this girl has normal boobs. This girl is not manatee-like. This girl can still buy 'cute little somethings' at Victoria's Secret. Well, THIS girl cannot. And you know, it's really not fair. It used to be that the only positive thing to gaining weight was finally having boobs. Until they kept getting bigger. And bigger. And... yes, bigger. I. Hate. Them. While others may appreciate them, the owner of these boobs does not.

So, with this knowledge I plunged (haha) into the bra department, looking for what size I thought I might be. I figured this out by adding quite a bit onto the last size bra I bought. A good year ago. Ha ha on me.

First of all? If you have big boobs? Forget any cute color. All the reds and pinks and greens only seem to be available in 34As. If you need something crazy, like say, a D CUP, you're looking at hospital white or pancake brown. Oh, and forget about lace. Or anything without a wire. Oh, and? The bras in your size will not only be hidden on the very bottom row, behind all the other bras, but they will not be on sale. So. There I am, on my hands and knees, lumbering down the bra aisles trying to find the proper size. Fast forward 45 minutes, where I emerge from the dressing room with sore boobs and a handful of rejected bras, only to begin Forage #2 for the size I REALLY am. It was almost as traumatic as swimsuit shopping. Almost.

I ended up with a black one (which, hallelujah) and a shockingly white one. Ugh. I am not at all sure they fit "properly" (thank you, Oprah, for instilling this fear), but at least they're a bit more comfortable.

The bottom line? It just adds insult to injury that I have to keep buying fat clothes for my "temporary" size. Well goody, now I can add some fat bras to the future Goodwill collection I am ever so reluctantly acquiring.

That and two pretty cool pairs of jeans.