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I have new bras.
I went to JC Penney this evening (it's handy to work), grabbed a few different sizes of a couple of styles that seemed possible, and went to a fitting room. I asked how many bras I could take in at once, and the attendant said "as many as you like." I explained that I had the same two styles in three different sizes, and she offered to measure me.
I accepted. The woman got a tape measure, wrapped it around me (with my shirt as well as bra on), and told me I was a 36 B or C. I was skeptical—I think I last took a 36 bra in the Carter administration—but I accepted her offer to lgo get bras the bras I had chosen in those sizes. I told her my general parameters (no underwires, I like cotton, and a few thoughts on colors) and she came back with a half dozen bras in 36B and C. After I tried some things on, it turned out that what fit was one of the ones I'd brought in in the first place, a 40C. I went back out, tried one other style (which didn't fit right), and then grabbed several more of the ones I liked. So, I now have six identical bras. I have gone through my underwear drawer and gotten rid of some old bras. (I should probably do more, but am going to wait until I've worn one or two of these and am surer that they do, in fact, fit.)
I also looked at some other clothes, and found two pairs of pants to try, neither of which fit. One was the too-familiar combination of too big in the waist, about right in the hips, and too short rise (that is, it pressed annoyingly against my crotch). At that point, I decided it was time to pay and come home, rather than wearing myself out. The cashier asked if I was using my store credit card, and I said no. I let her talk me into rounding my purchase up by six cents, to a round number, after she explained that the charity they were collecting for was the YMCA. At the very end of the transaction, she asked my zip code. I looked at her blankly, she repeated the question, and I said "01002" (which was my zip code for six weeks in 1980). I routinely give wrong answers to that question when stores are collecting demographic information, and that was the one that popped up first. For some reason, I never think to give one of my old local zip codes: it's 01002, 06520, or 02134.
For my future reference: the bras I bought are Bali "Double support stretch cotton wirefree."
I went to JC Penney this evening (it's handy to work), grabbed a few different sizes of a couple of styles that seemed possible, and went to a fitting room. I asked how many bras I could take in at once, and the attendant said "as many as you like." I explained that I had the same two styles in three different sizes, and she offered to measure me.
I accepted. The woman got a tape measure, wrapped it around me (with my shirt as well as bra on), and told me I was a 36 B or C. I was skeptical—I think I last took a 36 bra in the Carter administration—but I accepted her offer to lgo get bras the bras I had chosen in those sizes. I told her my general parameters (no underwires, I like cotton, and a few thoughts on colors) and she came back with a half dozen bras in 36B and C. After I tried some things on, it turned out that what fit was one of the ones I'd brought in in the first place, a 40C. I went back out, tried one other style (which didn't fit right), and then grabbed several more of the ones I liked. So, I now have six identical bras. I have gone through my underwear drawer and gotten rid of some old bras. (I should probably do more, but am going to wait until I've worn one or two of these and am surer that they do, in fact, fit.)
I also looked at some other clothes, and found two pairs of pants to try, neither of which fit. One was the too-familiar combination of too big in the waist, about right in the hips, and too short rise (that is, it pressed annoyingly against my crotch). At that point, I decided it was time to pay and come home, rather than wearing myself out. The cashier asked if I was using my store credit card, and I said no. I let her talk me into rounding my purchase up by six cents, to a round number, after she explained that the charity they were collecting for was the YMCA. At the very end of the transaction, she asked my zip code. I looked at her blankly, she repeated the question, and I said "01002" (which was my zip code for six weeks in 1980). I routinely give wrong answers to that question when stores are collecting demographic information, and that was the one that popped up first. For some reason, I never think to give one of my old local zip codes: it's 01002, 06520, or 02134.
For my future reference: the bras I bought are Bali "Double support stretch cotton wirefree."
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