So every now and again I need new clothes; who doesn't? Well, after taking inventory, I concluded a need for new bras. In general, clothes shopping isn't fun, but whatever. Bras are the sort of thing that you can get two at a time and be fine. It's not like you need eight every two days. Again, cool.
The numbering and lettering of bras always seemed asinine and unnecessarily complex. Moreover, what one company calls an A, another company calls a B, and the same goes for 34, 36, etc. Whatever. It's a crappy system, but I'm used to it.
Well, I start in the adults' section, and why not? I'm plenty old enough to vote and buy lottery tickets. I see no issues here. Except one. All of the bras are laughably too big. All of them. We're talking girth and cup size. Frankly, I'm small chested, I know it, and these were equipped to handle large cantaloupes. Jesus, who are they expecting to be shopping here? So I go to juniors. Same thing. Now I've nearly run out of options. There's only one... other... place.
Few people understand how awkward it is to stand in the kids' section as an adult sincerely browsing the merchandise. I was in the kids' section because nothing else fit. I tried it. So I'm standing in an aisle flanked by toddler clothes and Dora the Explorer, and an eight year old walks by. What the fuck? We should not be shopping in the same location. Store: okay. Area of the store: hell no. HELL NO. And I must admit, the ... styles?... available for that age bracket are disturbing for someone in mine. No fucking way I'm wearing a Powder Puff Girls bra. No. Nothing quite kills a mood as ugly cartoon characters scrawled across someone's chest. Someone significantly older than... that. And kids these days must hate plain, solid colors because every one of those damn bras had some design: dots, stripes--and we're not talking the subtle sort--ribbons, glitter (a. k. a. stripper dust to train them early), cartoons, etc. The list went on forever. And the worst thing was.... they fit. FML.
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