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You’ve decided to go bra shopping. Either you’ve decided to be the put together woman that you are or old faithful just broke. No judgements towards your particular reason.
You arrive at the store, knowing what you want, and all ready to privately get that new bra. But, of freaking course, there are ten salespeople, and you’re the only customer.
And you know they’re going to come swarm you and look at your chest to see how ill fitting your current bra is and judge you.
Yep, here’s one. She asks you if you know your size, and you’re all…
And she's all...
She says, “You think you’re a 36C? Ha! You’re probably a 36G.” And you’re just like…
Because the bra you’re wearing is a 36C, you’ve always LOVED your 36C, and you know your body better than she does, you smile, and continue browsing.
You find some cute bras, you go to the dressing room expecting to be all glam…
But instead, the bras kinda suck, and poke in weird places. You do what you swore you wouldn’t do when you walked in - get a fitting.
She was right, you’re some absurd size that you didn’t think you could possibly be. And the only bra they have in your size is something that only old woman Garol would wear.
But then you put it on and you’re like...
No bra has ever fit you this well. EVER. It’s like your boobs are finally where they should be, and you just never realized.
You come out, with absurd size in hand, and your salesperson is all…
She rings up the bra, and the total is $80.
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