The Worst Kind Of Shopping

Ladybeams recently blogged about the misery of shopping for a swimsuit.  I agree.  Shopping for and trying on swimsuits is easily one of the worst experiences a woman can endure.  I love to shop…for shoes…for pocketbooks…for clothes…for makeup…for jewelry…you name it.  Just don’t make me shop for a swimsuit.

However, there is one thing that is more painful, more frustrating and more difficult to shop for than a swimsuit.  All of you ladies know what I’m talking about.  It’s the elusive comfortable, proper-fitting, supportive, attractive and reasonably priced bra.  I am suspicious that it does not actually exist.  I know I’ve been searching long and hard for it since I was 12 years old, to no avail.

I’ve postponed shopping for a new bra long enough.  It’s not that my current bras are worn and out of shape.  It’s that they don’t fit.  Every single one of them is either too big or too small.  Shockingly they are all the same size.  Go figure.  Okay…I have one that fits nicely and pretty much gets the job done.  It’s purple.  And it’s lacy.  Not exactly a prime candidate for wearing to work under my white blouses. 

Now that I’m older, I need bras that can get the job done.  Long gone are the days of buying the pretty lacy things off the discount rack.  Sad day.

Yesterday I hit the lingerie department and fortunately, I had my little 20-month old helper with me.  I rummaged through the racks and grabbed anything I thought might do the trick in my size (and just to be sure…I grabbed various sizes over and under ‘my size.’).  I was pushing H’s stroller with one hand and grabbing bras with the other.  Meanwhile, H took off both his shoes and socks and threw his sippy cup somewhere.  Naturally, I spent the next 10 minutes retracing my steps to find said shoes, socks, and sippy cup.  Mission accomplished…so I jammed the shoes and socks in my pocketbook, balanced the sippy cup in the crook of my arm and continued grabbing bras.  At one point, I glanced down at H.  He was being so quiet and the perfect angel.  Well of course, he was.  He was smiling and having a ball playing with at least 5 pairs of the largest granny panties I’ve ever seen. 

Sigh.

Decision time.  Do I attempt to take the GIGANTIC granny panties away from him and risk the crying fit that might follow?  Or do I let him keep playing with them and risk my embarrassment should we run into someone we know or worse yet…risk him damaging them and then I’d have to buy them?  ARGH!  I opted for taking them away from him.  He was pretty cool about it, fortunately. 

I continued examining the bras and adding to my collection of ones I wanted to try on.  H continued grabbing panties.  It was a fun game.  Really, it was.  Yeah right.

Finally, when I could hold no more, H and I entered the fitting room.  For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, just know that there is nothing more fun than trying on bras and doing so in front of your son.  As I tried on ill-fitting and torturous bras, H giggled and said “gootchy, gootchy, goo” over and over again.  Nothing beats having someone laugh at you while you’re trying on bras.  It’s simply the best.

So…after trying on no less than 20 bras, I left the store.  Empty-handed.

I’m going to try again today.  Without the helper.  Wish me luck.