April 15, 2005

My Cup Runneth Over

It's not something I usually bring up in the company of strangers. It's something I rarely bring up in the company of friends.

Bra size is rather personal after all.

Oh sure, breasts and their containers don't always make appropriate conversation material, but they are undeniably in the center of things. One doesn't have to look very far to find a pair pointing their direction.

A recent shopping trip was the catalyst for a little stroll down memory lane, beginning way back when I was only as old as my son is now. A retrospective of my bra sizes through the ages flashed through my mind.

I'd never been particularly well-endowed by any stretch of the imagination. For many years my headlights were garaged in a modest 36B. Low beams.

While I was pregnant, my chest ballooned from its usual 36B to an outrageous 44DD. No, that's not a typo. It was but the first noticeable change in my body. Suddenly I could no longer button my blouses. Then I couldn't wear my blouses. I acquired progressively larger brassieres until my new monstrosities friends maxed out.

Nursing following pregnancy precluded a rapid return to normalcy. I was so looking forward to normalcy. My old bras patiently awaited their return to duty in my lingerie drawer. They waited a long time.

Over the years since, my 36B sized bras have been replaced with 38Bs. With underwires. All hail the underwire bra. Seriously.

Recently I've gained weight since quitting smoking and the nature of my relationship with my clothing has changed. I've noticed I fill out my clothes, shall we say, more completely. Including my lingerie of course.

Last weekend, Wendy proposed going clothes shopping.
I said, "Okay. I need new bras."
Wendy said, "Let's go!"

And so it was we found ourselves in the lingerie department of a local department store. Before we left the safety of the aisle to wade into the jungle of brassieres on display, I looked around furtively over both shoulders, ahead and to the sides before leaning down and whispering in Wendy's ear, "I think I need to go up a cup size."

She made eye contact and smiled, "Oh really? And you think I hadn't noticed?" She quirked her eyebrows and gave me that twinkle of her eye that never fails to melt me where I stand.

So it is that I have entered a new age.
The age of the C cup.

And my girlfriend.
She likes it.
Lucky me.



Pisces75 said...

Ok that size growth during pregnancey is SCARY!! God, I hope that doesn't happen to me. And as I get older in my years...I agree All Hail the underwire bra!!

WenWhit said...

What's not to like, Darlin'?

Bent Fabric said...

Your blog rocks! :)

Btw, I used your reference links in my blog. I'm hoping you won't mind.

Jalaine said...

After breastfeeding for 3-plus years, my breasts went from being relatively perky C cups to somewhat droopy D cups. Ah, the sacrifices we make for our children! I too discovered the wonders of underwire bras. But I also found out that the salespeople at Victoria’s Secrets don’t know how to measure women whose breasts have started the journey down toward their navels. I swear, one of them tried to convince me to cram my “girls” into a B cup. Sign, at least my sweetheart continues to appreciate my “assets.”

trisha said...

I miss my A cups.

C said...

oh lordy...
so funny to read. for the first 26 years of my life, I was so sure I was a B cup. I went from the 36B-38 B as I entered college and started filling out.
A month ago I ended up in Vickie S. needing a new bra,when I told one of my best friends a size to look for she stopped and looked back at me quizzically, "You're a what??! No, you're getting measured" She used to work in a lingerie department. So I went to the sales girl and sure enough...
"You're a 38 C sweetie" Oh, ok. Cool. So all this time I've been wearing the wrong size. I went home and told my roommate/best friend/Mr. Big about the size change to which he replied, "Damn, Carm. I could have even told you that." with a wink and a smile.
He likes it.
I like it.
And I like any excuse to buy new lingerie. : )