Imma Be

Unlike my sister and my paternal aunts, I wasn’t blessed with breasts.  I got the Prussian side of the family: eggs sunny side up (BONUS: I got the legs!).  In high school, my best friend liked to point out that my shoulder blades stuck out further than my chest.

I am at peace with my small bust.  I’ve toyed with the thought of getting implants – not that that I would, but a healthy C cup would be beyond my wildest dreams.  I rock such an awesome A cup that I don’t wear bras most of the time.  Living in southern NC, it freakin’ hot down here for most of the year – why wear another layer of clothing?  Ugh.  I wear shapeless opaque  scrubs to work, no need for one there.   I only wear bras for running (sports bras that make me look like a pre-teen – I wear them as outer wear) or as an accessory to an outfit: when I need some “lift” or if I’m wearing a light colored shirt that would show off my areolas.  I found out this spring, much to my dismay, I can run 2 miles without a bra and not be in pain. It’s a little annoying, but manageable.  On the bright side, I will always be perky, unlike my little sister who’s a 34E. 100% natural.  Grrr.

Today, I found myself in Victoria’s secret with an unused giftcard.  “If you need any help or a bra fitting, just let me know,” said this beautiful size -2 salesgirl.  Bra fitting?!  I’d never had one before — I figured they’d be like, “What are we measuring here exactly?  We don’t sell AA cups.”  I had no idea what a bra fitting entailed.  I figured I’d stand half naked in front of this pint sized supermodel and she’d get the circumference of my boobs, measure the distance between my nipples, the width of my body, and put all these numbers into a huge equation and voila! Bra size.  I had nothing going on, so I decided to do it.  I have no shame.  Since I wasn’t wearing one today, she gave me one to try on for the fitting (apparently, this is quite a PG experience). I told her I was a 34A or 36A.  I was a little nervous – I didn’t want to say less than A!  It fit perfectly!  Wow, I’m a full A!  Not this “almost A” crap!  An A!  <insert huge smile here>  I can’t wait to tell The General!

“That fits you perfectly,” she said after she took some measurements, which was only a measuring tape under and around my chest while standing in a bra.  “You’re wearing a 36B.”

A 36 what?

“Imma be?” I said.
“Yes, you are,” she replied.

Holy mammary glands, Batman!

Shocked.  Utter shock.  I’ve been walking around braless and I’m a B cup!?  WOW!  In honor of this very special epiphany, I bought a bra (now I own 5!).  A push up bra!  I would so post a picture, but I don’t want to give myself away ;-).  I can’t wait to tell the General!

I don’t think I’ll be changing my braless habits anytime soon, though.  Bras just make them look bigger and it’s not like I need the support.  I’ve grown used to my flat chest hiding under shirts.  I wonder, too, if it’s just the fatty deposits coming as my body prepares for menopause is the reason for the size change (I hit the big change, if all goes according to family history, in my late 30’s.  I’ll be done with this period crap before my 43rd bday!!!!)  Who knows?  It made my day!!

So now the only “A” I have is running through my veins, attached to my red blood cells.  And I can thank my dad for that one.


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