the bra factor

Oprah, that deity that all women, even when the publicly abhor her, bow down to, had a whole show devoted to the wonder of that mystical creation: the bra. I watched in wonder as woman upon woman was shown the light in the way of a brand new Uplifting brazier. Girl after girl looked better and better and I realized that I was, in fact, wearing the wrong bra. I needed a lift and last night I got one.

“Is one of you Julie?” I asked to the two saleswomen standing behind the Nordstrom lingerie counter. They looked at me quizzically, especially Julie. I pulled her card out of my person and said, “I thought it was you because my sister-in-law said you looked like Tyra Banks.” And she did, she was gorgeous. The older one then gave me a lecture about customers asking for salespeople and never using skin color. “That’s a good thing,” I was able to squeeze in, but she just kept talking. Eventually Julie, the Tyra look-a-like walked back to the dressing room with me. We stood in the dressing room discussing my bra and it’s inappropriateness. Apparently I had ruined my bras in the wash. I knew this, but hearing from a professional made me silently vow right then and there to treat my bras like porcelain.

Then Tyra’s twin instructed me to take off my shirt. “Uh, OK” I think I said. I was a little taken aback. I knew that the Nordstrom team was some kind of wonder in the way of making bras fit, but I just assumed it would all happen fully clothed. So she took my numbers and mentioned way too many letters and then disappeared to find my bras. I put my shirt back on and sat down to listen to the classical music wafting through the store. Julie returned with a handful of bras and placed them on a rack. “Great. Thanks” I said, but Tyra’s twin just stood there. I believe that crickets began chirping. She was obviously going to hang out with me during this whole thing rather than hand me the bras and let me decide. And not only did she help me, but she readied each bra by stretching it a bit and then holding each strap for me to walk into as if it was a coat. She then quickly went around back and secured the device as I adjusted things up front. I was a little uneasy with this whole situation knowing that Tyra’s look-a-like was seeing more my breasts than even I had in the last six months. But then each bra fit better and better and made me look better and better. I was my own Oprah show. By the third bra I was over the whole stranger-and-nakedness thing and was saying, “Fine, here are my breasts,” with my new found comfort with toplessness.

* Tyra’s twin did a marvelous and professional job and if you need a good bra, go to Nordstrom, but dude, I totally warned you.

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