All day long my boobs have been kissing up to me. Almost literally, since they have been lifted up so high that they almost touch my lips.
Yes, that's right boys and girls. Mama Mandy got herself a new bra, four of them to be exact. I finally had enough of my three-year old brassieres cutting off my circulation from the underwire poking out.
You heard me correctly, THREE YEARS! I can't believe I made it that long. I had tossed those rugged bras around, overheated them in the dryer and even let Vivian play with them; until finally I said, enough is enough. These babies will be sagging to my knees soon if I don't do something!
So off I drove to Victoria's Secret. Or as my husband Kirk likes to call it, "Victoria's Secretions," LOL. Yeah, he's a sick man but quite funny at times.
I was hopeful that my size would still be the same, 36-B, as it was before I had Vivian. Thankfully my hunch was right and "the girls" didn't grow any bigger. That made the selection process a little easier. I used to wear the Ipex style but now Victoria (that naughty girl) has a new one on the market entitled, The Perfect One. Perfect, indeed. After a few try-ons and gasps at the comfort and support, I made my way to the register and didn't blink over spending $200 for such a lifesaver. (I mean is $45 a piece too much to ask for when it comes to security blankets for your boobs?)
My very own "Perfect One" supports, shapes and smooths over the worn out places that my old bras sagged behind. Did I say sagged? Oops I meant, lagged behind. I felt an immediate difference the moment I put my new one on and definitely an improvement now that I've been wearing them for two days.
I even notice a change in my mood. Heck, I've been singing Shania Twain's "Man! I Feel Like A Woman!" and I don't even like most Country Music. I've been checking myself out in the mirror saying, Yeah baby (in Austin Powers fashion)!
I have begun whistling that tune from that tear-jerker movie about friendship with Bette Midler: Beaches. You know, that scene where Bette's character Cecilia 'CC' Carol Bloom is singing in a play about the inventor of the bra and the guy who stole the idea, Philippe DeBrassiere. (But only the Divine Miss M could really pull off that song, not me!)
I have been dancing around a little more, getting funky with my bad self too. A new bra can do strange things to a person!
What?!? I told you I was trying to loosen up more, remember? Or maybe I was just pretending to be in that movie Weird Science.
It's amazing what a new bra can do for your self esteem, but especially what they do for your "girls," "twins" - or whatever nickname you call your breasts.
Actually I am thinking about naming my new bras. I purchased four different colors and feel like I need to give them some credit. They're just so pretty and shiny. I almost hated wearing them but then my boobs begged and pleaded with me. So I knew I made the right decision to put them on instead of hanging them from the mantle.
So what should I name them? How about Black Beauty, Bobbie Beige, Big Red and Pearl's Place?
No good? Okay, well I'll keeping thinking about it then....
What did I do with my old bras, you may be wondering? Well, after I pitifully lined them up execution style on my bathtub, I then tossed them into the trash can.
Goodbye hooter-hurters! I bid you farewell!
To my dad or my brother Stu, if you happen to read this blog entry or if you've painfully gotten this far, you shouln't be embarrassed seeing photos of my new or old brassieres. After all, we've spent our entire lives seeing Granny's enormous bras hanging from her outdoor clothesline. You know that sight is way worse than seeing my much smaller cups on here.
At least I'm not displaying it for the neighbors to see. With the way thunderstorms roll in around here in Alabama, they might just end up in Kalamazoo if I do that.
No, I plan on keeping these babies. And I intend to be bragging on future bras again someday on here, hopefully not waiting as long as three years the next time.
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