NO! TO ADDING PADDING

I went bra shopping today, and just like Mel Gibson could in What Women Want, I actually heard the thoughts of the women around me: Why is she here? She clearly isn’t in actual need of a bra. I wonder what that short person is doing looking for bras; flat as a board that one is. Oh, that girl over there must be shopping for bras as a present to someone else, because there’s no way she’s duped into thinking she needs one. (I was grateful to that last woman for her vote of confidence in my understanding of my own bosom situation. But what woman actually buys bras as a gift for someone else?)


Yet, despite the judgments of other bra-buyers swimming around me, there I was feeling up bras, pinching the cup to see if it was actually padded or not, and if the tag said the bra wasn’t padded, squeezing the cup to see if it felt like it might be slightly so. No padded brasiers for me.

‘Cause, see, I have a opinion (Not another one!—Hey, it seems can hear your thoughts too. This is amazing!): Don’t flaunt what you ain’t got. Wear more eye makeup, or rat your hair, or do something else to draw attention elsewhere. You’re not busty, and you’re through with the development stage? Move on. You’re not one of the blessed.

But I actually have another opinion. I don’t think that busty women are all that blessed. I have a secret (or not so much any more) pride in my lack of buzzes (Grandma Sally’s euphemism for those, um—things). Back pain? No, not me! Gaps in my button-down shirt? Nope! Concerns that men out on the world are looking at my chest rather than my face when we chat? Uh-uh.

Granted I tried on a dress today that looked like a giant garbage sack with a sash. When gazing at my reflection in said sack, I was mystified as to why the dress looked so crummy. Then I glanced at the area beneath my collarbone. Aha! This dress is made for a girl who can fill it out. And, in this case: alas, that girl is not me. However, there are some pretty cute little jackets with deep plackets that I can sport with pride, no beeps (Lauren’s euphemism for those, um—things) busting forth.

So in spite of the thoughts of incredulity floating around me while I grasped bra after bra, I bought a couple. It’s my right as a woman.

And how wonderful is it that while some well-endowed women have to pay 70 bucks to have their bras custom made, $14.99 seems to buy me a perfectly adequate support system.

Sold!