Adventures in Bra shopping

According to my stats thing, 71% of the visits to my blog are…well…me. Which means, 29% read my blog. I get about 7 visits to my blog a day, not counting my biggest

This has a sort of freedom in it. I makes me forget that those 29% are actually reading my words and I can pretty much blather on without considering that anyone is taking notice. This is probably untrue, but it makes being honest easier. Therefore, I am gonna share my day (I count that as anytime after I am done working, as working hours are not really mine)

It takes me about 1.5 hours to go to work each day, and 2 hours to go home. Sounds uneven but when going to work one has a say in when you leave, when one works, it is pretty much whenever they let you leave, and the fact that the M3 leaves at 25 or 58 after the hour tends to equal an extra half hour no matter how you spin it. Usually I just wait and read until closer to time, then wander over to the stop, which happily enough is literally just outside my work.

Today was payday. Usually a happy occasion even if most of it goes to bills. This week I am budgeting for Z’s visit, but had enough to buy a little needed something for myself.

You may not know it, but I am pretty sure 5 of my friends (5%of that 29% that read my blog) just gasped in shock. I never buy stuff for myself. Getting me to do so generally involves cursing, threats, and pleading (other peoples) It is not that I don’t need or like buying things, it is that I am quite happy within my shabby self most of the time. A fact that drives the aforementioned friends nutso cutlet.

I love buying for other people. I am the kind of poor that makes people worry and, quite frankly, makes me feel low. Not because I am poor, but because it makes others freak out. I am actually pretty ok with it, most of the time. When I get upset about being poor, it is because I cannot treat others on special days. Christmas being the one I go completely mental over.  See, I like finding the perfect present. I like taking ages to select just the present that suits the memory I have of someone. Generally, being poor, means I have to settle. I hate settling for a crappy, and less personal, gift. It gives me hives. That is why I get low about it. I could care less about fashion and fancy decorations, so long as I am fed and dry, I am content..mostly. Give me the income to surprise people and show them how very much I enjoy their presence in my life, and I would never be unhappy with my lot.

My friends consider that a problem. They point out my second hand clothes and pathetic lack of personal  decor indulgance as proof that I need to love myself more. They probably have a point, but I just can’t get them to see, I am content, so long as there are books and free access to Dramafever in the world. I don’t really go out all that much anyway. Jeans or pajama pants and a t- top and I am golden. I admit I am a complete bookwhore though. I pay for Kindle Unlimited every month with no regrets.

Ok, so..finally back to the story. (I live in a world of tangents traveled) I wandered over to Target and admitted to myself that I need a new bra. This involved a lot of internal cursing you need not know about in detail. Suffice it to say,  I admitted defeat when my inner voice pointed out that the one I was wearing had only one hook and eyelet left holding it together. Bummer. I glanced over them wondering why the really cute bras are always reserved for the petite woman. They deserve the compensation, I have little doubt, but why do all the D cups have to look like they were crafted for big breasted stereotyped Russian woman??

No really!! Every stinkin one had an underwire and stiff cups that looked like they held missles instead of breasts. Careful one of those things don’t take an eye out! Big bras are always made of stiff fabric and the dullest colors too.  I admit there were pretty ones, but every one of them had an underwire. Let me get real here. Underwire bras suck balls! Lift and separate my ass!! They hold your breasts like a U shaped vise, in an impossibly uncomfortable position, in order to make what wants to sag appear perky. At the end of the day all woman pull those nasty things off the moment they hit the bedroom door. Freedom!

The petite ones are made of soft fabric. Like sweatpants or yoga pants material. They look sexy. They scream “Check these out dude” I am aware that prettier bras exist for woman with more ample favors, but…I was at Target..and..Did I mention I am poor?

Then, I saw it. A bra with no underwire. Just really pretty elastic in a contrasting color to the sweatpants material cups. OMG!! The cups also had contrasting edges around them. I found my size and closed one eye. Peeked. $12.99 Yes!!!!!

They are sooo mine. I couldn’t resist, I bought the boycut panties too.

So..maybe indulging myself isn’t so bad..once in a while.

5% stop cheering like dorks. You know who you are. (I’m looking at you Joey D, Shay, and Kazza specifically.)


Hanes Comfortflex fit. You complete me. Total convert!

Ps. Those not part of the 5% and male, no, that is not me modeling the bra. As if.

Published by B

I am B (call me BB and I will gut you) I like daisies, books, and men who understand the wisdom of Kermit the Frog. I refer to my favorite person as TMW5T Why? because if he had 6 I'd call him TMW6T, duh!!

%d bloggers like this: