So I went to a women's lingerie boutique with the intent on treating myself to some new bras. A Motherly, Contessa-ish, School Principal, Baroness-type employee(She even had an eastern European accent to boot. I kid you not.) approached me and asked if I had ever been professionally fitted for a bra.
I took a quick look down at my chest wondering if she saw something that was not obvious to me. The last time I was professionally fitted was when I needed to know what size I was to begin with in order to buy my first bra back in junior high with my mom. "Ummm, not in a long time." I answered as if I was in the confessional. My answer seemed to have settled the issue b/c Bra Guru whipped out a measuring tape and escorted me to a dressing room.
Snug as bugs in a fitting room stall, she takes my measurement, asks what size I have been buying. When I tell her, it is clearly the wrong size. She does a tisk tisk--you poor thing--let me take you under my wing facial expression. In her heavy, what I assume to be Slavic accent, she tells me to remove my bra and she will return with various ones in my NEW CORRECT size. She returns with a variety of lacy, satiny, serious, frilly, risque and modest bras and closes the door with herself on the same side of the dressing room as I am. Being quick on the uptake, I realize this will not be a solo bra trying on event. She stands behind me and fastens the first bra and takes a look from the side, the front, etc. and shakes her head b/c bra #1 simply will not do in her opinion and mutters something about spillage. I take it off while she is getting the next one off the pretty little hanger and in a stealth move which only comes with experience she fastens the new one on me....sorta like when being fastened into a parachute jacket she is tightening up the straps, checking the angles, teaching me about proper support. She made the trying on of each bra into a very scientific event; The Science of Bras.
In my mind, I started singing the last part of the Bette Midler song, Otto Titslinger , about the fictional man who invented the bra. I only know the last part by heart. If you know the song, then you know it is weird to even know any part of this song by heart.
Once I got over feeling awkward, it was a very enlightening experience. We tried on a gabillion different bras. She'd leave the room and come back with a variety of different ones. I liked all the ones she did not like and she would tell me, in the most polite way, why I was such a moron to like the bras I chose and that the ones she chose were the ones I really should be wearing. And then she'd have me try on on of the bras I chose and she'd once again with that back to the drawing board lecture show me why it simply wasn't a best fit for me and then she'd have me put on one of the bras she chose and prove her point on why this bra was a winner.
In the long run, she totally knew what she was talking about and from here on out, she is gonna be known as my Bra Guru. Upon wearing one of my new bras it was as if the whole universe had somehow changed. I felt brand new. I felt like climbing to the top of a green mountain and singing like Julie Andrews, "The hills are alive....!!!!!" I am willing to bet that Julie was totally wearing a professionally fitted bra during this scene. Think about it. I am convinced a properly fitted bra would equal that sort of happiness.
I felt I could take on the world with my perky, look you straight in the eye, new friends. I think every gal out there should be properly fitted for a bra.
Thank You, Bra Guru, Thank You.
Sealed with a Kiss, Kirsten
Sealed with a Kiss, Kirsten