If you are a guy and you get squeamish about a discussion of women’s undergarments……I might leave now.
I ventured into a foreign country today. A land that is unknown to me. A fearful place where I do not know the rules and to top it all off I had to take my clothing off in front of someone that I didn’t know…..
I went bra shopping at Nordstrom.
I have this dress that I am wearing to Shoe Queen’s wedding. And I knew that it needed better “foundation wear” than I was currently providing for it. The “girls” (don’t make me explain that any further) are usually foundationally supported by something that I found on sale a Kohls.
I warned you.
But for a while now I have been thinking that I have been shortchanging myself. I knew that there was something better out there for me. Something more…uplifting….shall we say. Something that just screamed..
YOU WANT TO WALK DOWN THE STREET WITHOUT A SHIRT ON JUST LIKE LADY GAGA!
Well, maybe not that but I knew that there was something better out there for me. But in order to find that elusive something, that Bra of Eldorado, I was going to have to sail into uncharted foundation garment territory. I was going to have to actually let someone else (beside HHBL and my doctor) see “the girls” in their natural state and measure them and evaluate them and make a judgment about them. Oh lordy, oh lordy. I am a tender shoot, easily bruised.
But I knew it had to be done. So off I went to the nearest Nordstrom to hopefully find some older, blue haired lady who had been fitting women with the perfect foundational garments since the turn of the century. Someone who would understand me and the girls. Someone who would find just the right binder for me (name the movie!!).
Nordstrom is a foreign land to me. I wasn’t sure, upon entering, that I wouldn’t have to pass through immigration and show my papers. Every thing gleamed. Everything shined. Everything is expensive. But I pushed on to my appointed final destination, after I inquired where I might find bras.
In lingerie I was told.
Up the escalator I went, hoping that the thing would slow down or perhaps stop and I would be stuck there forever. But no so luck. I wandered for a bit, hoping against hope that I would look like I knew what department I wanted and wouldn’t be asked if someone could give me assistance. After a few minutes of wandering I found the department. It was fairly obvious….there were bras and other assorted unmentionables hanging in plain sight. My first thought was just to wander, grab something that looked like it “might” fit, try them on and be gone from this accursed land. But then I pulled myself up by my flip flop straps and went to ask someone for help. I looked around for the sturdy, blue haired lady who would help me. But she was not there. I could only see two employees who, if I wasn’t mistaken, were approximately 12 and 14 years old.
Isn’t there ANYONE in the lingerie department who is older than I and can help me for the first time EVER get measured and fitted for a good bra?
So I walked confidently up to the desk and pleaded my case. I tried not to wring my hands and look pathetic. If they had looked closely at the state of my chest they would have known that I was pathetic. A pathetic, Kohl’s bra wearing person who desperately needs foundational help.
Help me Obi Bra Kenobi! You’re my only hope.
Adrina stepped bravely into the gap and said that she could help me. She showed me to a fitting room, grabbed her tape measure and kindly (and without pity) asked me to remove my shirt so that she could measure my rib cage.
Off goes the top and there I stand in all my saggy Kohl’s bra glory. I give Adrina credit, she didn’t laugh. But she sure did hurry out to find something that wasn’t so offensive to her innate sense of foundational style. She was swiftly back with several rather lacy and delicate looking pieces of confection. My first thought was to burst into laughter if she thought those things would do the job. I need 3/4 inch cables young woman! And heavy duty mesh! And wire, lots of wire.
But soon I wasn’t thinking about the make up of the bra because just about the time I was done mentally dismissing the lacy piece of confection it became clear to me that I was going to actually have to take OFF my catastrophe of a bra in order to try on the lovely thing that Adrina had brought in with her.
Oh lordy, lordy, LORDY!
But I am brave. I can do this. So I sprung the girls from their aged prison and then actually had this young thing help me put on a bra.
Let me say that again. I put my arms in the appropriate place, she settled everything else where it was supposed to go and did up the back. Kill. Me. Now.
And then I stopped and looked.
Well DANG the girls look good. They look happy. And this thing feels pretty awesomely awesome.
So I sent Adrina out for a couple more bras just to test the theory that I was rapidly forming. The theory that said that I might never, EVER buy another bra from Kohls.
And by the time that Adrina returned with more lacy confection in various styles we were such old friends that I was standing there, hands on hips, naked from the waist up waiting impatiently for the next bra. We were such good pals that I stripped down to my undies so that I could try on the MOB dress with the new bra. No shame!
And in the end…….
I bought FOUR bras. And one of them is “orchid” in color. And one of them has a sassy little bow on it.
And we are SO not going to talk about what I paid for the privilege.
Kohl’s lingerie department you are dead to me. I give my allegiance to Nordstrom.
Along with my money.