I just found out that I’ve been buying the wrong sized bra for the last 25 years. And not just a little wrong—WAY wrong.
Now don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a public service announcement telling you all to burn your bras and go out and get fitted—because really, I don’t care that much about what you do. J
I honestly just assumed that because I’m old and gravity has been playing a cruel joke on me for a while that this is just the way things were meant to be. I joke about using a complicated pulley system to keep them north of the floor, but I’ve been at all out war with my bras for years.
Here I’ve been cursing the universe when really I should have been cursing my own stupidity. Also, I apparently have some sort of fun-house mirror concept of my back because I’ve been under the misapprehension that my back is HUGE.
I almost want to emulate the “I feel pretty” girls and show off my underwear to people because I am actually that excited about this new discovery. And by people, I mean my imaginary friends because I would never, ever subject anyone to me in my underwear no matter how awesomely functional it now is.