Support can be Beautiful

BRASSIERE WARNING

(FOR ALL MY MALE FRIENDS WHO WOULD RATHER NOT THINK ABOUT MY UNDERCARRIAGE, YOU MAY WANT TO JUST TUNE IN TOMORROW FOR THE UN-UNDERWEAR ADVENTURES OF JUNE.)

Frankie is right. I promised I would tell you about measuring my own self with an apron, and I am a woman of my word.

For many, many years, in fact the first 27 years of my life, I was terribly skinny. My grandmother thought I had a worm. People used to say, "You're so small, if a big gust of wind came, it'd carry you away" which resulted in a phobia of wind that is a whole other blog entry.

Suffice it to say, I was not large in any way.

Then one day in my 27th year, I was having dinner at the home of this gay couple I knew. I point this out only to explain that they actually had a bathroom scale, being self-respecting, body-conscious gay men and all. Me? The only scale I got on was this big loading scale outside the museum where I worked. I always weighed 113, 117, maybe, so who cared.

Well, I got on Jeff and whatever-on-earth's-Jeff's-partner's-name-is, and I can't believe I forgot, and I weighed (dun dun dunnnnnnnnnn!) 134.

After this surprise, I also discovered that I really could no longer go braless. And I discovered the Victoria's Secret pushup bra. Hello!

Oh, weighing 134 was exciting. Suddenly I had a girlish figure! And I was not subtle about it, with those pushups. I would have just worn pasties to work if I could have gotten away with it, I was so thrilled to be ...curvy, as they say.

Ten years and pounds later. I am home, freelancing, wearing my pajamas. It's a hot day, and I think, "What is resting on my ribcage?" I was startled, just as I was startled years before on that scale, to discover what was resting was, well, my bosoms.

All of this is to tell you that circumstances have changed for me in that area, and I guess I have made it evident that I apparently pay no attention to myself until something dire happens and I say, "Hey! I weigh a real amount" or "Hey! I need to lift and separate!"

Well, what is bugging me lately is, "Hey! My brassieres are uncomfortable ALL THE TIME." I suddenly feel like I am wearing a corset, or that a boa constrictor is curling around my midsection. So I think I may be wearing the wrong size undergarment. Nothing gets past me. I'm a regular Sherlock Holmes, over here.

So imagine my delight when I saw on my Google homepage, under the "How to" section, "How to measure your bra size."

"This is it!" I thought. "I can measure myself and figure out what size I really need, and perhaps I can breathe out again!"

The directions tell you to get a tape measure and measure in two different places, then you do this adding and subtracting and all sorts of terrifying things that I am bad at.

Well, we have no tape measure. Why would we ever need one? We do not sew. We are not entering Miss America. It has just ever come up. Now, if I were BUYING things, I could zip on over to the evil WalMart and get me a tape measure. What are they, a dollar? But nooo.

So I pace around the house, frantically. There must be SOMEthing I can drape around myself, then measure that. Why is there nothing drapey in this house!? What about the hose? Would the neighbors talk? Why don't I own any ribbons? Or scarves, decorative scarves?

Finally I alighted on my apron, the strings hanging innocently on my kitchen door. Ripping it off the knob, I headed into the bedroom with its full-length mirror, and draped it around me, digging my thumbnail into the string to mark my place, so I can then get a ruler and measure. Okay. Now I just have to find our ruler, and measure how long that piece of apron string went.

WHERE is the ruler!? I KNOW we have a long, what are those called? YARDSTICK! I know we have a yardstick! Shirtless, digging my nail into an apron string, I tear up the house one-handed, looking in every closet and cupboard. How do you lose a YARDstick? It is THREE FEET LONG.

I finally find a 12-inch ruler in the desk. At this point I have made a permanent dent in that apron string. I do my measuring, and apparently I am a 32FFF.

You see? You don't need to spend money on a useless tape measure! This not spending is fun! Really!