Yesterday I went to buy a new sports bra.
Sometimes, buying a bra is quite enjoyable, but buying a sports bra never is. Shopping for a sports bra is on par with things like going to Medicare or calling your internet service provider to arrange for a new plan because your existing plan is shithouse. Still, it has to be done.
I went to this special shop in the city staffed by mature women who know how to fit you properly and don't judge you for never having a clue what size bra you wear. You sometimes have to wait a while but it's worth it, for the extra special treatment.
So there I was, waiting around for my turn, looking through through the racks of bras when I discovered that this:
Just the bra, not the whole lady.
Now I don't know about you guys, but I look at that and I think hello Dolly magazine circa 1991, hello bike shorts, hello open chambray shirt tied at the bottom, hello fun in the sun. In a nut shell readers, this little crab liked what she saw.
Straight after thinking this, my turn came up so off I went to try on my sports bra.
My attendant looked like she was about 21, which did not encourage me given that I have had boobs for longer than she has been alive, but I gave her a chance. And all fairness to her, the girl knew what she was doing. Before I could say 'bounce reduction', she had found me the perfect sports bra.
I was feeling pretty satisfied with the results. Cocky even. So I said to my girl (and i'm paraphrasing here): hey girl, hows about you get me a normal bra to try on now. Maybe that one on the third shelf with the bustier type deal that looks like something Molly Ringwald would wear.
You know what she said?
"Who's Molly Ringwald?".
Unbelievable. There are people in the world who are old enough to have jobs, but don't know who Molly Ringwald is.
Eyes = opened, friends.
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