Chesticular breasticles (AKA I have no clue what to title this)

Did you know that the center gore of your bra should sit flat against your breastbone?  That if your bra fits correctly, it shouldn't be painful or uncomfortable?  O_O  Yeah, me neither.

From Penningtons

A while back, Lotta (aka Mom O Matic) posted about her trials in bra shopping/fitting.  This sparked a painful memory for me.

My supervisor at my old job had been urging me to go get properly fitted.  Not sure why: maybe I was sagging? (HA!  OMG, I forgot!  There was a really, really sketchy woman who worked there very briefly (we called her Cee Dub, short for Crack Whore) whose tits LITERALLY pointed in all sorts of crazy directions, but never in the same place at the same time.  It was hilarious distracting!)  I finally relented, opting to go to a privately-owned lingerie store in the two-horse town up the highway from my one-horse town (where my only options were Sears and La Senza).

I walked into this teeeeeny, tiiiiiny shop CRAMMED FULL of racks (seriously, it was so fully, you couldn't turn around without knocking something onto the floor).  I approached the counter in trepidation (first time another female would be touching my breasts professional fitting, yo) and quietly voiced my request.  The woman called to a sales associate and directed me to a fitting room.

Boob Lady crowded in behind me, asked what size I was wearing, said something in terms of that *sounding* about right, and left me to undress - she didn't measure or put her hands on me at all (and no, she didn't seem so attentive that she "saw" I was wearing the right size - hell, if I remember correctly based on the time of year, I think I was wearing a sweater or a hoodie).  When she returned with a handful of bras in the same size as the one I had just removed, she did the dreaded knock-and-walk: y'know, where you knock as you're opening the door?


Yeah.  Bitch done EXPOSED my bare naked breasticles to the ENTIRE store (and likely anyone walking by on the sidewalk).  "Whoops."  That's all she had to say for herself.  WHOOPS.  Not even an exclamation mark-worthy whoops!  Wanted. To. Die.

The first few I tried on fit so poorly that I finally found my voice and asked if she shouldn't be, uh, I don't know, measuring me.  "No: the best way to determine what size you are is to just try on stuff until you find one that fits."

Buh, wut?  If I'm wearing the completely wrong size, we could be here until next year!

As was suggested today on Twitter, I should have walked out at that point.  (Well, after getting dressed, OBVS.  I'd already given ONE free show that day.)  However, I didn't know what to expect and it honestly didn't occur to me that I wasn't getting the best service.

I ended up buying an $80 bra that hurt my back so much, I think I wore it four times.  Of course, I couldn't return it after that.  I still have the bastard somewhere (don't ask me why).  After polling Twitter about my lack of breastbone-touching center gores and the fact that my boobs seem to be making a run for it and
s l o w l y start to slip out of the cups (what IS that?!?  I haven't been able to figure out if the cup is too big/small, if the band is too loose/tight, or if the straps need shortening/lengthening - NONE of those fixes FIX IT.), it was recommend by eleventy-two people that I get my ass to a lingerie store for a professional fitting.

Looks like I'mma have to drive to a THREE-horse town.  *sigh*  Damned chest anyhow.