Tempest in a C-Cup

Himself and I are visiting my brother and sis in law in Scottsdale Arizona (n0t to be confused with my other brother and sister-in-law, who gallantly offered to take care of Pancake while we’re golfing, going to roadhouses, and yes, visiting the local Target.) 

It is about said trip to Target that I am writing today. Let me just say that yesterday’s stop at the site of that wonderful red and white logo yielded my second disturbing age-related revelation (the first, as many of you know, being the relentless plummet of one of  my earlobes) that my bra size has changed –  and I have no idea to what.

Not that this stopped me from scooping up three little numbers, in various colors and styles designed to drive Himself wild. When my SIL and I met up at the cashier, she was agog. “Don’t buy bras here,” she said. “Go to Kohl’s!”

I suppose she was right. But my girls were hanging t00 low and the Target lingerie department beckoned. Plus, I could buy a lawn chair, an $8 t-shirt, and some Ghiradelli chocolate at the same time. Can you do that at Kohl’s? I think not.

Back at home, I did a try-on. The results were devastating.  I was a walking display of back fat and bra spillover,  for the first time in my life.  I said nothing to anyone. I simply put the offenders back in the bag, found the receipt, and went back to Target today.

I bought one cup size bigger but have not had the energy to try on today’s purchase yet. Instead, I ate part of a doughnut and logged on to write this post. If you hear some screaming and a squeal of wheels in about an hour, it means that it doesn’t fit and I am on way back to Target. Cross your fingers.


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