Monday, July 16, 2007

Being Tortured...

Today I went to Victoria's Secret, which is something I find about as much fun as getting a root canal. Sure it all looks glamorous on the TV commercials and in the catalogs - in real life, it sucks. Particularly when you're me and between sizes. I wish the bra fairy would just come drop off the perfect brassiere - one that doesn't give you weird bulges or four boobs or anything unsightly like that.

I walked in the store with the sole purpose of returning three bras that I picked up from the clearance bin that ended up being the wrong size (even though they sized me in the store.) Sadly, I walked out with three bras - two of which were not even on sale. Ugh. I'm such a sucker!

But really, the saleswoman was bound and determined to make sure I left with a purchase. She re-sized me and sent me in a fitting room with this little box of sample bras you can try on. It's basically one of each of their top sellers. I still didn't feel like any of them were fitting me right so I put my own clothes on and was ready to walk out of the store with nothing.

She caught me at just that moment and told me to go back in the fitting room, try on one of the bras and she would come in and help me. For some reason, I agreed to this. I let a complete stranger come in and adjust my bra while I just stood there. (I think it's from being fit for bellydancing costumes where one person would be assigned to holding my bosoms in exactly the right place while the other person measured.) She convinced me that the bra actually fit perfectly and I just felt uncomfortable because I'd been wearing the wrong size for so long. So I tried all 7 on again and decided she was right. Walked out the door with two of them.

This woman was a helluva seller. (The checkout lady was a bit of a tool - she kept making comments like, "Well why are you returning all of these?" Um...'cause they didn't fit...) I'd like to take at least one of them back - bras aren't cheap. I'm just afraid I might end up leaving with a whole new wardrobe or something. It's kind of like that Friends episode where Ross or Chandler (I forget which one) couldn't cancel his gym membership...

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