A Little Lift
This morning I weighed in at 201.25 pounds. I now weigh 50 pounds less than I did when I began my weight loss. Glory be and pass the…..kohlrabi!
I went lingerie shopping this weekend. I last purchased a bra for myself about a year ago, when I had decided at long last that I could not bear my bras cutting off the circulation to my torso. When said garment arrived, a hulking behemoth of a structure with 6 (six!) hooks in the back and cups the size of those baskets that hold chips at Mexican restaurants (you know the ones), I cried. I thank my last favor on earth that the bra was far too big on me. I returned it and vowed, once again, that I would not buy another boulder-holder until I was closer to a normal body weight.
Keep in mind here that I’ve never owned a sexy bra. I ‘blossomed’ and required a training bra in the 2nd grade, and by the time I was a junior high-schooler, I was in a C cup. By the time I reached my full height and weight (5’10”, 140 lbs), I was a DD. Let’s add to this that I’m rather small around my rib cage, relative to the rest of my body (read: my gazongas), so I’ve always had a tough time purchasing bras in commercial establishments. When was the last time you saw a 30 DD? Never, right? After a decade of rubbing the underwire marks off of my body at day's end, I found Cameo bras, designed for freaks like me with teeny torsos and big hooters. I slid beautifully into a 32H (yep, “H”) and was happy for most of the rest of my 30s.
Then I got fat and the 32 became a 34, and the H became HH and then an I. Then I got pregnant and became a 36 and then a 38. At my peak, with a 9-pound baby jutting from my midsection, I was a 38J. Yep, “J’ as in “Jygantic”. I managed to ditch the 38 after my son was born, and eventually the 36 simply fell apart and I had to trash that as well. I’d spent the last 2 years in a 34HH that was far too small, both in band and cup size, and I just decided to suffer through until I got smaller.
Enter Weight Watchers and now 50 pounds down (!!) and I’m ready to reward myself with something new and pretty. I tried the department stores, and then I tried Victoria’s Secret, and I even tried Lane Bryant, but I couldn’t find anything. When the cup sizes were big enough, I couldn’t get anything in small enough band, and when I found my band size (34), I couldn’t find anything over a D. I’m still 44 inches at the bust, which means, in theory, that I’m a J (my God, there it is again).
So off I went to Frederick’s of Hollywood, figuring, why not? I brushed past the crotchless panties and stepped over the boobless teddy collection and found my way to the back, where I discovered something that just might work. I pulled out a couple of styles and hit the dressing room.
A little caveat here for the large-busted among my readership: never, ever let a sales clerk convince you that something called the Maximum Cleavage Bra is a good idea. That contraption nearly knocked me unconscious when my breasts got pressed so far up on my chest that they created a vacuum right over my nose, cutting off the oxygen to my brain. So, off came Maximum Cleavage and on came Scarlett Sensuality.
It fit! Glory be, I’m in a regular bra! And it has flowers on it, and 4 hooks. Only 4! I wanted to dance around, but it doesn’t have the Nobody Move! support of the nursing bras I’ve worn the last 5 years, so I had to keep things down, as it were. I bought 2, removed the padding (seriously, what is wrong with these people?) and carted my new lingerie home.
Today I wore one of them to work. I noticed at once that I have a jiggle factor that I did not have before, and that any time I lean over, all eyes dart downward, toward the “v” in my blouse that is now sporting something lavender and lovely, rather than beige and Industrial-Baggage looking. The bra, while fairly normal, does have a little Push-Me-Up action to it, so I have to be careful not to walk with too much spring or I risk 'fallout', as it were.
I’m also out of practice with under wires, so I’ve been digging at it since about 2pm. Definitely going to work on that. But I’m in a regular bra, and I feel good. I’ve gotten more smiles today than I’ve gotten since the 90s. Nobody’s talking to me while staring at my ‘twins’, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
Size? Okay, well, I told you all the Big Bertha Booby sizes, so I guess it's all right to tell you this one, too. 34F. Thirty-four, as in 5 inches gone from my torso, and F as in Fantastic.
Jump around with me some.
A the F (!!)
I went lingerie shopping this weekend. I last purchased a bra for myself about a year ago, when I had decided at long last that I could not bear my bras cutting off the circulation to my torso. When said garment arrived, a hulking behemoth of a structure with 6 (six!) hooks in the back and cups the size of those baskets that hold chips at Mexican restaurants (you know the ones), I cried. I thank my last favor on earth that the bra was far too big on me. I returned it and vowed, once again, that I would not buy another boulder-holder until I was closer to a normal body weight.
Keep in mind here that I’ve never owned a sexy bra. I ‘blossomed’ and required a training bra in the 2nd grade, and by the time I was a junior high-schooler, I was in a C cup. By the time I reached my full height and weight (5’10”, 140 lbs), I was a DD. Let’s add to this that I’m rather small around my rib cage, relative to the rest of my body (read: my gazongas), so I’ve always had a tough time purchasing bras in commercial establishments. When was the last time you saw a 30 DD? Never, right? After a decade of rubbing the underwire marks off of my body at day's end, I found Cameo bras, designed for freaks like me with teeny torsos and big hooters. I slid beautifully into a 32H (yep, “H”) and was happy for most of the rest of my 30s.
Then I got fat and the 32 became a 34, and the H became HH and then an I. Then I got pregnant and became a 36 and then a 38. At my peak, with a 9-pound baby jutting from my midsection, I was a 38J. Yep, “J’ as in “Jygantic”. I managed to ditch the 38 after my son was born, and eventually the 36 simply fell apart and I had to trash that as well. I’d spent the last 2 years in a 34HH that was far too small, both in band and cup size, and I just decided to suffer through until I got smaller.
Enter Weight Watchers and now 50 pounds down (!!) and I’m ready to reward myself with something new and pretty. I tried the department stores, and then I tried Victoria’s Secret, and I even tried Lane Bryant, but I couldn’t find anything. When the cup sizes were big enough, I couldn’t get anything in small enough band, and when I found my band size (34), I couldn’t find anything over a D. I’m still 44 inches at the bust, which means, in theory, that I’m a J (my God, there it is again).
So off I went to Frederick’s of Hollywood, figuring, why not? I brushed past the crotchless panties and stepped over the boobless teddy collection and found my way to the back, where I discovered something that just might work. I pulled out a couple of styles and hit the dressing room.
A little caveat here for the large-busted among my readership: never, ever let a sales clerk convince you that something called the Maximum Cleavage Bra is a good idea. That contraption nearly knocked me unconscious when my breasts got pressed so far up on my chest that they created a vacuum right over my nose, cutting off the oxygen to my brain. So, off came Maximum Cleavage and on came Scarlett Sensuality.
It fit! Glory be, I’m in a regular bra! And it has flowers on it, and 4 hooks. Only 4! I wanted to dance around, but it doesn’t have the Nobody Move! support of the nursing bras I’ve worn the last 5 years, so I had to keep things down, as it were. I bought 2, removed the padding (seriously, what is wrong with these people?) and carted my new lingerie home.
Today I wore one of them to work. I noticed at once that I have a jiggle factor that I did not have before, and that any time I lean over, all eyes dart downward, toward the “v” in my blouse that is now sporting something lavender and lovely, rather than beige and Industrial-Baggage looking. The bra, while fairly normal, does have a little Push-Me-Up action to it, so I have to be careful not to walk with too much spring or I risk 'fallout', as it were.
I’m also out of practice with under wires, so I’ve been digging at it since about 2pm. Definitely going to work on that. But I’m in a regular bra, and I feel good. I’ve gotten more smiles today than I’ve gotten since the 90s. Nobody’s talking to me while staring at my ‘twins’, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
Size? Okay, well, I told you all the Big Bertha Booby sizes, so I guess it's all right to tell you this one, too. 34F. Thirty-four, as in 5 inches gone from my torso, and F as in Fantastic.
Jump around with me some.
A the F (!!)
posted by Former Fat Girl Gone Skinny | 3:28 PM
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