Tripping in Heels

Last week at work I noticed I was fidgeting a lot with my shirts…or my bra, rather.  I finally decided to actually take a look at the thing and to my surprise noticed that BOTH underwires had broken.  I have no idea why it took me so long to figure that out, but I’m going to blame law school, as usual. 

I’ve never been a lingerie-type person.  I have your standard flesh-colored and black bras, but nothing fancy.  I’ve never liked my body shape (who does, right?) and always saw undergarments as a way to hold the wobbly bits in place.  So, I actually don’t replace my bras all that often or really take notice of them.  Well, this bra in particular was shameful.  I mean, all whacked out of shape and obviously broken.  I think subconsciously I just didn’t want to shop for a new one so my eyes only saw what they wanted to see. 

So today at lunch, I ventured out to buy a new bra.  Gross.  I’ve gained quite a bit of weight in the past year and I really don’t enjoy shopping anymore.  I don’t think I’m ugly or anything, but I’m tired of finding clothes too tight and searching at the very back of the rack for the larger sizes.  Well, today was no exception.  After avoiding the overly-helpful ladies in the store, I snatched my size off a rack and ran to the back to try it on.  There I was smooshing and squishing everything into place when I realized…the bra didn’t fit.  My size was no longer my size.  I was going up.  All through high school I would have loved this problem, but I’m thirty.  I don’t want a bigger chest.  I work in a professional environment.  I don’t want the boys staring where they shouldn’t.

I sulked back out into the main area of the store and some nice saleslady took pity on me.  She helped me find my new size and made sure it fit right.  She sympathized with me and talked “support” because she has a very large chest.  I felt better after her help and I even bought a second bra since it was clear nothing in my drawer at home would fit.

I realize this isn’t the worst problem to have and I seriously doubt my husband will complain, but I’m ready to stop “growing.”  My body seems to be changing a lot this year (something for you mid-twentiers to look forward to).  I have a stupid crease (aka wrinkle) on my forehead between my eyes that gets makeup stuck in it, and I’m just sure law school is going to give me gray hair.

I thought the thirties were supposed to be the new twenties!  What the hell happened?