Not that I perpetually have odd email conversations with my friends or anything (ahem), but I was having a chat with B about boobs the other day. This wasn’t actually prompted by the ‘don’t look in the mirror when you’re bending down’ conversation I had with C, but it probably ties in quite nicely. You see, B had gone to La Senza (do they have those in Ireland?) to return a bra (’yes, the same one I took back a couple of weeks ago because I had picked up the wrong size’). Unfortunately that one didn’t fit either as she discovered that she’s not the 34C she thought she was but in fact a 34D. ‘How did that happen? I have breastfed three children, for God’s sake!’ lamented B. Well, I’d actually be quite pleased - I think mine are shrinking. Although I did pick up a rather nice little black number with black and white polka dot ribbon woven through it in Penneys (shh!) which was a 34C, only to find that it was a bit tight - but that’s always the way - every shop’s sizes are completely different. Actually, it felt quite nice to have a bit of cleavage. It reminds me of my Mum: if anyone’s ever got a heaving bosom on the telly, she always says ‘ooer, her dumplings are boiling over’.
Anyway, I digress. Back to B. So, having been assisted by the little lollipop of a girl who is de rigeur in such places (’she didn’t even look old enough to have boobs let alone advise you on how to hold your own up’), she discovered that they only had two bras in the whole place that fitted and one of them was pink and brown so that basically left her the huge choice of…er…one. Not exactly a satisfactory shopping trip. In my ‘if I was a millionaire’ moments, I’ve always fancied shopping in one of those really posh places like La Perla or what’s the other one called? Places where you get properly fitted. I remember shopping in Mothercare once for a maternity bra and the woman measured me over my jumper, saying it didn’t matter. I ask you.
Now where was I going with this? Oh yes, as you also know, I’ve got a rather nasty Ebay habit, and I recently admired (and purchased) an underwear set online (bit of a gamble, admittedly). Well, my luck, for once, was in. It arrived yesterday and it’s gorgeous. It’s a divergence from my usual lace exclusion policy, but it’s nice stuff not itchy scratchy cheap and nasty lace, and it has little pink bows on too. B-e-a-yootiful, as Bruce Almighty would say, although probably not about underwear.