Every six months or so, I make an appointment. I take time out of my schedule to go get it done.
I consider it a very important part of my "Let's help Carmen look like she's not quite ready for the grave" scenario.
Along with coloring my hair, waxing those hairy bits of me, going to the dentist and doctor for checkups, buying contact lenses, wearing good makeup, using quality skin care, getting my nails done, exercising, trying to find clothes that flatter -
I go visit the bra shop.
I have been abundantly blessed with extra filling in that area of my body. So much so that it makes an undergarment a difficult purchase, for the band size is smaller than many feel the cup size should warrant. And, being that those larger than typical girls weigh more, they tend to wear out their restraints a bit quicker than typical, even though you hand wash those restraints in specially milled soap pressed from the tears of unicorns and scented with violets and rainbow water, never ever EVER using the washing machine OR the dryer, but allowing those special snowflake garments to trail like gossamer - Nazi German Prison Matron Gossamer - all over any available protruding protuberances in your bathing area.
And when you go to the only bra shop in the shopping mall -
you come out wearing the same size everyone else wears - 36C. Vicky, it's not a secret - your hot young things selling the goods don't know how to fit the goods. They can fill them out, but they can't fit 'em.
When you go to the professional store, and you disrobe in front of a little old woman whose nose is right on a level with your clavicle, and she lifts and tosses your girls over your shoulder and in every direction, having you bend over and stand up and shrug your shoulders one way and another and take a deep breath and now let it out and scoop and lift and press and shimmy and your modesty is gone in a flash and you talk more openly about your girls than you ever thought possible
And you try this one, which is not right, and the cup on this one is wrinkled, so even if you like it you can't buy it because it doesn't fit and she will be double dog damned if you are leaving without your girls looking amazing, even if one is bigger than her twin, and that more abundantly blessed girl is christened "Your Bad Girl" because it just doesn't want to behave and you talk hooks and straps and lining and lace and minimizers
And, finally, she is satisifed and you are exhausted and sweaty, hair all over the place and feeling as if you've been violated nine ways to Sunday and someone, somewhere, owes you a drink and a dinner
and the fact of the matter is that your size is so weird that the store only had one restraint in your size - which happens to be 32HH and 6 months ago was 32G, so the weight you've gained clearly went to your girls, so glad someone is not starving herself- and so they will order several more for you to try at absolutely zero obligation
and your girls look good.
And that's all that matters.