This One's for the Girls

Yes, you can have too much of a good thing.  I'm not talking about money, or wine, or other inherently good things. (I consider money to be inherently good.) This blog is about boobs.

For me, it started about a week and a half ago.

I hit Deaconess Women's Hospital with a serious case of Mastitis. Of this, I was certain. Here's how Google Health spelled it out.

Symptoms:
•Breast lump
•Breast pain
•Fever and flu-like symptoms including nausea and vomiting
•Itching
•Swelling, tenderness, redness, and warmth in breast tissue
•Tender or enlarged lymph nodes in armpit on the same side


The redness, the swelling, and the "I've never filled out a tank-top like this before" sensation made this an open and shut case. Now, where are the antibiotics? No really, write it down on this rx pad. I need some relief.

I was fairly certain I'd end up at CVS, but I headed for JCP instead. That's JC Penney. No infection. Not even a hint of mastitis. Only an ill-fitting 36C. So, I was there for a sizing.

I suppose a normal person would be relieved at the non-diagnosis, but truth be told, I didn't want to spend money on bras. I like to haunt the baby boutiques and drool over teeny, tiny, little bitty baby things - in twos. Or... rocking chairs. Oh - and there's a glorious twin buggy by Stroll-Air I've been eyeing.

Up go my arms and a pair of boney, icy hands pulled the measuring tape against my rib cage. I can think of ten other places I'd rather be in this moment.

The woman named *Cheryl interupts my thought. "Well, there's your first problem. You're a 32."

A WHAT? You mean like ALL the way around? How is that possible?

She adjusts the tape, never making eye contact, and pulls it tight again.  Ouch.
"And here's the other problem. You're a DDD."

Holy hell.

It takes a minute to sink in.  I stare at myself in the mirror.  When did this happen?
Cheryl shifts her weight, nodding, and keeps her fingers pinched on the measuring tape... "Betch'ull be an F when that milk comes in."

Her breath smells like cigarettes.  She drops the tape and slips out of the dressing room.
I laugh.  Out loud.  This is funny but for all the wrong reasons.

It's dreadful news.  It means I'll be buying bras now - and AGAIN in a few months.  It means I'll have to put off impulse baby purchases.  It means my new bra straps may soon be 1/2" wide... for support. OH GOD. Lunch-lady style.

I sit on the edge of the bench for a minute.... doubting I'll ever bring sexy back.

Cheryl's back and she has a couple of different bras in her hands. They're DD - the biggest you can buy in the store - but I slip one on and it immediately feels better than what I wore into the store.

Much, much, much better.

Maybe this isn't so bad.

In fact, this is a treat.  An indulgence.  I thanked her quickly, texted Nate to meet me at Victoria Secret, and picked up a couple DD bras there - to hold me over until my DDD's come in the mail.

Special order, Fed Ex, you always bring me good things!

Ohhh, Monroe, this might just be the best $150 you've spent this year afterall.


[*Name changed to protect the innocent]