The benefit of losing 25lbs? Your clothing gets loose. So loose that you can pull the waistband of your jeans waaay out and yell, "Get in my belly" in your best Scottish accent to your husband. Who is frankly not at all that amused.
The drawback? Your boobs disappear rapidly. Suddenly my lightly padded bras were indenting if I leaned against the countertop. The girls were hiding inside them like scared kittens huddled in a beige cave. Not pretty. So I took a friend's advice and went to Nordstroms for a bra fitting to find out how bad the damage was.
When I first walked into my dressing room stall I was unsure of how to proceed, so I sat down and awaited instruction like a good Lutheran bride. My fitter came into the room, closed the door and explained that I should remove my top and face the wall. Which quite frankly freaked me out. Because that's exactly the sort of thing they tell you in prison. And because I have no censors that's what I said aloud to my professional bra fitter, "That's exactly the sort of thing they tell you in prison." Awkward.
Apparently, the way this works is that after they have taken your measure with a dressmakers tape, they hold an accurately fitted bra out in front of you. It sort of suddenly appears and you are supposed to modestly slide your arms into it. Then they hook up the back and say, "Ok, make sure you get all of your breasts in there sweetheart." Really? All of them?
Turns out that they want you to lift and scoop. Shimmy the girls in like you're trying to make some tip money. Also turns out that technically you can call the fat under your armpits "breast tissue". And if you smoosh it inside the bra you can claim up to a 1/4 cup size larger. Sweet.
The crazy thing is that I went down two sizes round the perimeter and UP a cup size. Could not wrap my head around that one till I was informed that the full figured, putty colored wonders I was buying at Kohls are vanity sized. So basically, Kohls was lying to me. Instead of marking my bigass bras accurately they decided "What the hell, she's already bought that "fuller figure" bullshit. Let's let her think she's a C cup."
When I tried on the new bras my helper brought me I wasn't used to such a tight fit. So I began obsessing about my back fat showing. Till the woman finally looked at me like I was simple and said, "Honey" (hand on her hip) "Your bra 'aint 'bout your back. It's 'bout your front." We stared at each other for a full minute and then broke into hysterical laughter. And she continued on to tell me that if you look good from the front, "'ain't nobody gonna be looking at your back honey." Truer words.
But she kept bringing me white after white brassiere until I yelled, "My God woman I have been with my husband for 20 years bring me some primary colors or I'll start loudly asking if it's normal for you to measure my cup sizes with your palms!"
After strong arming her into bringing some cute ones into the dressing room I asked her, "So does this look good?" To which she replied, "I can't tell you if they look good! I can just tell you if they fit!" And I asked, "What...you got me naked and now you can't tell me I'm pretty?" She loves me.
Eventually we found a bra that the fitter admitted looked decent and de-emphasised the fact that I have only one good boob. So I bought one very lovely Wacoal brand bra. One bra. Why just one after all that? Because real lady bras. The kind with lace and two hooks? They are fucking expensive. Like a month's worth of hot lunch for your children expensive.
And I guess you aren't supposed to throw them in the dryer and let the hooks get all bendy either. You have to hand wash them and promise not to pull them off through the arms of your sweater and throw them on the floor in disgust at the end of the day.
It's exhausting work being all ladylike. But at least in my new bra my boobs don't go concave when I carry my library books.