It has become the thing to do for women of my generation: head to Nordstrom's and be fitted for a bra. A girl's first bra fitting (or however she got her first bra... I think my mom just brought some home) is a legendary event, I don't think any of us ever envisioned there'd be this second pilgrimage. Yet cautioned by Oprah and Glamour about how many women wear the wrong size, and uncomfortable/unflattering that can be, I finally joined my sisters and invited a woman about my age to come into my dressing room and check out my rack.
While I did not find out (shock!) that I was in the wrong size, I was thrilled to have some service in finding bras. My normal shopping experience goes like this: find cute bras, check for my size (which they make) but is not there, find bras in my size but they are padded which I do not like, find racks and racks of bras that do not come in my size, start to feel very unloved and woe-is-me and I-do-not-belong-here, and ultimately buy a new version of the exact same bra I have because it's all I can find. In fact, I'd had the same experience wandering around Nordstrom that day before I got the courage to ask someone to check me out.
But hark! The efficient saleswoman came back with an armload of bras in my size that I do not already own and that are not padded! Hurrah! Never again will I wander around woebegone. Now I'll always avail myself of expert service, reigning like a queen from my dressing room as they deftly select from the collection they know so well.
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