Dear Maidenform

     I saw a study once saying millions of women, as many as 85%, are wearing the wrong size bra. The bra making industry is completely to blame for this of course, but we continue to buy their poorly sized products and are totally letting them off the hook. (Pun intended.) Why? We have no choice. What other options do we have? We can't just let the girls droop free out in public, can we? What other product can have an 85% failure rate and still sell billions of dollars worth of product? I can't think of any. Yet we fork over all our cash to Victoria without even questioning the fact that her secret is really that your bra won't fit.

     I'm going to get very personal now. If it bothers you, too bad. I was a very late bloomer. Kind of. Part of growing up the skinny kid is growing up flat chested. My cup size was a friend of Bill until I was old enough to drive. (If you don't get that, ask someone who has been to an AA meeting.) Then I had a wonderful treat filled summer that allowed me to gain 20 lbs. and graduate to a B cup! I was very happy with those girls, and when they were still there at graduation I assumed this was my permanent size. I assumed wrong. At about age 21, they grew again. I measured everything in the scientific way they tell you, and determined myself to be a 32D. So I did what I thought was the normal thing to do, and went to Walmart to buy some new bras. I found an actual bra department employee (This was way back in the 1900s. They hadn't all learned to disappear yet) and asked her where I might find the 32D bras, as the biggest 32 cup I could find was a B. She did the "elevator eyes" that I would slap a man for, went to fetch her boss who appraised me as well, then they both informed me I was wrong. There was no such size.

     So I did what I should have done first. I went to Frederick's of Hollywood. That salesperson, upon hearing my size, looked down just long enough to nod agreement before she asked me what style I liked. Lacy, satin, push up, T shirt? I was in love. I was in Heaven. And they have had my back (and boobs) since.

     Then I got pregnant. I assumed I would nurse, so I went to the maternity store to get a nursing bra. My back had not gotten any broader, but I correctly assumed that moving up to a 34 would help the cups be bigger. Still, when I asked the salesperson to sell me a 34DD, I was transported back to that Walmart 10 years before. No, they don't carry that size. But don't everyone's boobs grow when they're pregnant? Yes, but usually not that much. Perhaps Lane Bryant or one of the other full figure stores could help my 105 lb. self out. So again, I went to my friends at Fredericks, who had the size I needed but aren't really in the business of selling things to help boobies fulfill their intended purpose. Lucky for us all, mine didn't work anyway so I was happy.

     But now, a lot of the Frederick's of Hollywood stores are closed, as we've become a more internet shopping society. It's ok for me; I know how to determine my size. But I worry about the other 85% of women out there who don't know! Or the ones who believe the department store employees. Or just can't find the size we know we are anywhere!

     On a side note, department stores, your bra departments suck. And not in that intended way. First of all, why are you arranging bras by brand? I don't know what brand I want! I want the brand that makes my size! If you make me go through every single fucking rack in your whole department to find out not a single one of those bastards is the size I need, I am pissed. And exhausted. Because in addition to the whole brand thing, you hang them wrong. A cups on the top, big cups on the bottom? What are you thinking? Do I look like it's easy for me to bend over? Do I look like, once I get my girls down there almost to the floor, I'll be able to get them back up again? Busty girls don't bend over! Ever! Until we need to find a bra. Then you have us all crawling on the floor desperately searching for something we probably won't find. It makes me hate you. All of you. Even my beloved Target.

     And the bras themselves! For the love! I admit, maybe the A cup girls can wear clothes that require halter style straps or cross backs. But you should not make these models in anything bigger than a C. The reason? Those crazy little C-clips that hold the straps in place. They aren't reliable. They slide all day while you're moving, and sometimes they slide right out of their holder! Now, when this happens to an A cup girl, it's not too big a deal. She giggles, slides it back in, goes along with her day. But when it happens to a DD girl, people could get hurt! You are endangering everyone in my general area by building bras like this! Stop it! Stop it now! We aren't wearing cross backs. We aren't wearing halters. We are wearing clothes that we know will cover our inch wide bra straps because this is how we dress! Help us!

     I encourage you, women of all sizes, to join me in some bra shaming at the upper levels. We demand more from our bra makers! We demand sizes that fit real women, not some fictitious creature you created on a runway. We demand you put the big cups in easy to reach places, and let the flat girls do some squats for once! We demand products which don't force me so take a stapler to the work restroom to keep myself contained. Simply put, let's demand better. Better for our boobs.

Besties

     A new year. Time to take stock of our lives and decide what we want to change. A time to look back at the year we just survived, see what we did right and what we could do better. A time for reflection. A time to look forward. A time to make resolutions.

     My first claim was that I don't need any resolutions. For the most part, my life is pretty great. The only not great things about it involve other peoples' treatment of or attitude toward me. I can't change other people, and gave up trying. I can only control my reaction to their treatment. Since I've already made "Don't engage" a personal mantra, there's not a whole lot else I can do there. My job is changing for the better this year, so that's all good. My health is better than it's ever been, and I'm happily making better choices there. I'm not going to set myself up for failure by trying to do something drastic I don't want to do, so I'm just going to continue the path I'm on. I'm still nowhere close to being ready to date, so I'm happily alone there.

     But I was wrong. I do need a resolution, and I'm making one. Before this year is over, I want a BFF. A bestie. One friend who values me above all her other friends, and who I value above all of mine. An Amy Farrah Fowler, if you will, to share my life with me. If you don't understand that reference, it can't be you.

     Don't get me wrong, I have great friends. I have a sister who would be (and is) a great bestie, but she's my sister and lives 6 hours away. I have great friends and even some other relatives in my life who love and support me, and are willing to do anything I need. But all of them already have a bestie, so I'm just a friend. I have a ton of male friends, but that won't work. They just don't friend the same way we do. I have a son who my life revolves around, but let's face it, it wouldn't be fair to expect him to fulfill BFF duties. And it would be creepy and possibly bordering on abuse.

     I'm not a rookie. I grew up with a bestie. Then I messed up and lost her. I put her in an impossible situation, then thought it was ok to blame her when she made the only choice she could. I was angry for a long time. I thought I was angry at her. Turns out, I was angry at me. But I'm 20 years older now, and I think I've learned my lesson.

     So I need a bestie. Apply in person, please.  You can have other friends of course, you just can't like them as much as you like me. Being married or in an otherwise stable relationship is a plus, that way I don't have to deal with your dating fiascoes or you wanting me to join in said torture. Having children who rule your world is pretty much required. And the ability to just pop in to my house on a moment's notice is mandatory. You must have a messed up sense of humor, and know the correct there, their, they're to use in all situations. You're expected to know your yours as well. In return, you get me. Happy New Year.