My Breasts Have Been Measured

I’m off to a wedding on Sunday and I’m very excited. I purchased a gorgeous dress. Well it would be gorgeous on someone else. I look like 5 pounds of shit shoved into a 4 pound bag but there’s nothing I can do about that now. It’s a raspberry asymmetrical dress. Short at the front long at the back and is extremely comfortable.

I have had the nails done, the hair done, eyelash extensions and the last thing on my list was to get good undergarments to make sure the dress sits as well as it can.

Off I went to a local lingerie shop in Kilkenny called Belle Femme. Walking into these places is always intimidating for me. When you are my size, bras are mostly functional. You can’t just pick one up on a whim because the majority of shops don’t cater for the bigger bust. So you see rows of delicate items and just think… I don’t belong.

However I trusted my friends who told me this was the place to go so I braved it out and in I went. A warm greeting awaited me and I was whisked behind a pair of luxurious curtains to be measured for my over the shoulder boulder holder. The impeccably turned out Bridget asked me to remove my top and bra…..

Jesus Bridget buy a girl a drink at least!

I started to witter on about every time I’ve bought a bra since I was 16 and Bridget worked her magic. ‘I don’t use tape to measure’ she assured me as if she was some sort of breast jedi who could sense their size just by being in their presence. And surely enough without so much as asking me what size I thought I was, I was wearing a bra that did everything you hoped a bra would do.

They had shape, they were raised off my belly and they were secure in their pleasantly pleasing black lace brassiere. I was so impressed. The bra didn’t resemble something I’ve seen elderly women wear back in the 50’s. Usually it’s all flesh coloured and full cups not a hint of an underwire anywhere. This was stylish and modern. I tried on my dress and the difference was noticeable. I had a shape and I was thrilled. Bridget left me to get myself dressed and putting on the old bra was such an anti climax.

Back to saggy baggy boobies!

Before Bridget took my purchase to pack it beautifully in delicate tissue and a branded carrier bag I managed to catch a glimpse of what size bra my breasts were worthy of. Well I nearly fainted 40HH…. who knew the letters even went up that far! Holy knocker lockers that is epic. I’m heading back to Bridget next month to get fitted for an everyday bra and I can’t wait. I just hope she doesn’t add any more letters onto the size!

Clothes are so Uncomfortable

I’m sitting watching tv. The heroine is after being kidnapped. A bag shoved over her head and stuffed into the boot of a car by two large men. She struggles of course with little effect. What I want to know is with all that fuss how the hell do your trousers stay on!!!

I can’t walk from the car to the school without hitching up my pants at least once. I’m pretty sure if I was bucking like a bold child not wanting to get into the bath I would expose myself to all who cared to watch.

What’s more I wouldn’t have some fancy knickers on underneath. No no. If I were to be kidnapped I’d be wearing my oldest, grottiest thinnest pair of period stained excuse for a knickers. My arse would be a welcome distraction from the embarrassment of them.

Then they tied her to the chair and her hair was in her face naturally enough. They proceeded to torture her by showing someone beat up her sister. Well they wouldn’t even need to go that far with me. At this point those vile briefs are under my butt cheeks and I’m about to gnaw through the ropes with my bare teeth for that reason alone. My bra is driving me insane. I want to pull it down at the back and stuff my triple diddies back in at the front. Paired with the hair in my face I’m ready to tell them everything they want to know.

Then as if I thought the threat of them hurting my sister wouldn’t be bad enough (I mean who the hell would mind the kids while I line danced on a Monday. Went to see friends on a Wednesday. Got my hair done on a Friday…… I could go on.) I realise my runner sock had slipped under the heel of my foot. Heaven above is there no mercy!?

I imagine at this stage Beast Mam takes hold. This level of discomfort is more than I can take. I muster up strength reserved for mothers whose children are in grave danger. I break from the ropes. Fix the knickers, remove the hair from my face put my boobs back in my bra take off the socks and burn the bastards kill the bad guy and save the day!

Clothes grate on me. Nothing is comfortable. I could obviously lose some weight that might help me but problem solving is not my strong point. I often contemplate nudism if that’s a word but i don’t like to make other people feel inferior and let’s face it if this goddess was walking around nudey rudey that would be inevitable.

So I’ve slipped off the bra and I’m going to see if my heroine will save the world with or without exposing her arse in the process.

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