My Conspiracy Theory

The world of apparel is conspiring against me. Conspiring to make me feel too skinny, too fat, tall, short, tiny-breasted, big-footed or just plain ugly. Today I found myself shopping for bras. Online, of course, because there is nothing more bizarre than looking at undergarments in public. There are thousands of bras on the internet. And as it turns out, a large majority of them are nursing or running bras. Which reminds me that I'm old and without children (because apparently EVERY woman has children) and I don't work out. Thanks, Amazon. I also find myself gravitating quite unintentionally toward the very expensive bras. I didn't even know bras could cost over a hundred dollars. But they sure look like they fit good and look nice. But alas, my champagne tastes are never to be satisfied until I make my first million. So I have to stick to the cheapo lingerie.

And in this case, any bra under $80 is inevitably going to come in every size except mine. I am an A. A all the way, baby. I can't even puff up my chest or hold my breath to get to a B. Sometimes I'm very ok with my little boobs, but at times like this, I desperately wish I could have more. If I could just get to B, a whole new world of undergarment fashion would open up to me. I suppose the designers are trying to advocate everyone get to more or less the same size, whatever means it takes. With every page of bras I downloaded, I felt more and more freakish with my less than average A's.

Which I guess is why small breasted women often don't wear bras. They aren't made in our size.