Will any of you be uncomfortable if I talk about underwear for a minute? No? Okay good. I didn't think so since we are BFF and all.
So I like to buy my bras at Victoria's Secret. I know, they are expensive. But honestly, they make the girls look good. You know what I'm sayin'? And I need the girls to look good. Because they are sad and depressed and not looking anyone in the eye these days. So my friend Victoria helps them keep their, um, spirits . . . up. Or something like that.
Anyways. My only issue with Vickie and her secrets, is that I am pretty sure she discriminates against the big girls. And when I say girls I don't mean boobs this time. I mean actual girls. Ladies. Women. Women who may not be the size of Heidi Klum and all her cronies, but still want to feel sexy in their chonies. I personally have always loved to wear cutesie bras and panties because I can't wear everything I want.
So the other day Ubes and I were out shopping for our monkeys and I went into Victoria's Secret to check out the goods for my goods. I found a bra that I wanted and noticed they were having a buy one get one half off sale. I turned to find a sales associate to ask which bras were part of the sale, but I couldn't get one to look my way and I felt it was inappropriate to scream across the store "Hey! Is this bra included in the sale or what?"
I expressed my frustration to Ubes. "See, this store pisses me off every time I come in here. I always have a hard time finding someone willing to help me."
"Why?" Ubes asked.
"Honestly? I think because I'm not Victoria's Secret model material."
"What?" He was skeptical.
"I really don't think this store is "Big Girl" friendly. Look at the sizes they have on display. They are all the small sizes. The bigger sizes are in the drawers below." I pointed to the drawer to emphasize my point. "And they only go up to a size 38. Don't you think someone bigger than a 38 wants to wear sexy bras?"
I forget Ubes doesn't know what a 38 is. But seriously, just because a woman is not a 34B or a 36C, it doesn't mean she doesn't want or deserve to feel pretty. Right? And I think it's funny that I have such a hard time finding my size, which I am not embarrassed to tell you is a 38C (I've been measured, dude, I know it's accurate), because obviously a whole lot of 38C's are beating me to the drawers and buying up all the "Big Girl" bras.
And I think as I stood there waiting and looking for someone to help me, Uberman still thought maybe I was being a little too sensitive... Until....
A very nice sales associate finally approached me and asked if I needed some assistance. She was like me, older and single digit size challenged. I pictured her to be a happy mother of teenage boys with a dog and a husband who likes to go camping. I don't know why. These are the things that go through my mind in split seconds, people. I realize I may need medication, but the imagination is what keeps life exciting.
Anyhoots. (Ha! Get it?? Hoots?!?!? I crack myself up!) Nice Sales Lady tried to help me find an amazing black and white lace bra that was out of stock (bummer) and then helped me to a dressing room with my other choices. As I stood in the dressing room trying on bras, every girl's favorite weekend activity, I overheard another associate talking to Nice Sales Lady.
"Shawna, are you helping the woman in this dressing room?" she asked. I could see her black boots below my door and I knew I was the only one in a dressing room at the time.
"Yes," said Shawna.
"Oh good," said the other associate. "Because you probably understand more about her . . . um . . . sizes and stuff."
I am sorry but what is there to understand about my size? Being a 38C does not qualify me as some kind of special needs. It's not like I have three boobs instead of two, right? I mean when did being a 38C mean you were an elephant?
Seriously, I don't want to jump up on my soap box and champion the rights of the plus size folk everywhere, but give me a break!
And I hate that term "plus size." What does that even mean? Plus what? A bigger ass?
I'm just saying that I am sick of being looked down on or excluded or whatever because my body isn't smaller. I'm not lazy. I'm not unhealthy and anyone would be envious of my amazingly low cholesterol level. My size just so happens to be in the double digits. Sue me.
But here's an interesting fact: I like me. I think I am pretty much awesome. And I think most people who take the time to look past my droopy 38C's enjoy having me as a friend. Yeah I wish I were thinner. I wish my thighs weren't so jiggly and I felt more comfortable in a sleeveless top. And I'm working on it. But I'm working on it for me. Not because I am worried about what anyone thinks. Despite my lack of perfections, I am happy with the person I see in the mirror. Because she is nice. She is funny and charming and compassionate and full of life.
And her husband thinks she is pretty sexy with or without the help of Victoria and her secrets.
So take that Vickie. I for one will be finding a new place to buy my undergarments. And you just lost a Facebook friend. Hurts, doesn't it?