I’m visiting my sister starting tomorrow, so today’s been a mad rush of trying to get things done. But I’ve been foiled at every turn. Guys, sorry to say, you might want to skip this one.
Yesterday, I went to Sports Authority to buy a sports bra. Usually I would order from Title Nine, but my need was so tragically dire that I couldn’t wait for shipping. My last two bras had been purchased at the same time, and they both died in rapid succession. The truth is that they were old and had been used long and hard, but I am cheap and I don’t like to shop, especially for something so un-glamorous. But then the one that was in half-decent shape just lost it. The straps had Velcro, and have you ever had something where the Velcro just gives up and dies? That’s what happened to me. I was in a Zumba class at the JCC and the strap came undone–again–and the bristly side of the Velcro was puncturing my shoulder blade for the last four songs. I ended up wriggling out of it and going au naturel for the yoga class. (And by au naturel I mean just wearing my top-with-a-shelf-bra that less endowed women can just wear like a normal person while exercising–not like I’m bitter. Okay, I’m bitter. Whatever.)
So, I’d headed to Sports Authority directly so that I could work out that very day. I don’t usually buy these in person, and I thought that someplace sporty would have a better selection. As it turns out, it wasn’t a fabulous selection, but everything was available to take home immediately, even if it meant a 15-minute drive each way. I needed a bra. That day. And in the store, somebody had hung a sweet little pixie 34A bra on a hanger marked L and I mistakenly brought it into the dressing room with me. And managed to get it over my head and one arm before I realized that something was Horribly Wrong. And then I was standing there, imprisoned in this white synthetic cage, and I seriously thought for a minute that I might need help from a salesperson. But I escaped.
Then I tried on another bra that was fine. It, too, was white. Because once you reach a certain size in the bra category, you are no longer permitted to have loveliness or color (yes, okay, I am exaggerating, and there are sources out there, but there is nothing like getting trapped in a dressing room–particularly one where numerous people have plastered their sanitary and hygienic liners to the walls–to make you feel a bit sorry for yourself).
Anyway, I purchased the bra as well as a surprisingly adorable dress that looks kind of like this except that the pattern is different and it was on sale for less. I was pleased.
Until I got home and realized that I’d accidentally purchased the Pixie 34A bra! Argh! And I had already thrown away my old bras at that point, so I could not work out.
Today, I headed back to the Sports Authority, where I exchanged the Pixie Bra for the More Robust version, and then I went and did some more errands.
And then I rushed home to try to finally get in a workout before an evening appointment. And that’s when I noticed this:
Argh!! Do you see that tag?!?!
It says 34A!
I had stopped at the customer service counter, dropped off the bra with the cashier, walked to the Bountiful Beauties section and found the bra I’d meant to buy yesterday, carried it to the customer service counter to purchase it, handed it to the cashier to scan, paid the extra ten bucks that is required as a service fee because clearly this bra would have to work much, much harder than the Pixie Bra ever would, took the bra back from the cashier. . . and somehow the cashier had handed me The Wrong Bra! So instead of getting in a quick workout before my appointment, I had to drive back to the store to get the bra that I had already attempted to purchase twice.
And I still haven’t worked out. But I’m ready for tomorrow.