Both of my children were sick this weekend, either with walking pneumonia or bronchitis, the doctor wasn’t certain. Either way, both children were whiny and pitiful, I decided to go shopping anyway on Saturday and allow Tate some quality time with his children.

Because I’m not as bad as a mother as that, I didn’t leave for my shopping venture/escape until after I had prepared the childrens’ lunches.  Though I was hungry myself, the thought of someone ELSE making my lunch won out over my growling stomach.   It was raining AGAIN, (OF COURSE it was), on Saturday, so I decided the mall was the best place to shop, eat, and get a bra fitting all under one dry roof.

That’s right.  A bra fitting.

I’d never actually had a bra fitting.  Before kids, I could go to TJ Maxx, find the cheapest 34 C on the rack, and not worry about it not fitting.  My girls still had spring in their step back then, if you know what I mean, and there was never any gathering at the top of my bra or boob spillage out of the bottom creating a double boob effect.  Then I had two babies whom I breastfed, and BOY OH BOY did I have BOOBIES for a short, but glorious time.  I never was offered a spread in Playboy, which is disappointing, because those boobs?  Were damn NICE.

So anyway back to my current boobs, they were in need of a properly fitted bra.  I parked at Dillard’s, which in hindsight was foolish due to my nagging hunger.  How long could a bra fitting really take?  I mean, I only have two boobs to measure.

Apparently it takes awhile.  First there’s the measuring, then there’s the trying on.  I’ve now learned that just because you measure as a 30 C (who knew!), that doesn’t mean that’s the actual size of bra you’ll need.  Molded cups, soft cups, push-up cups, different brands, there was a LOT to consider when properly locking and loading the girls.  After what seemed like hours, I finally chose two bras that seemed to fit and brought my girls back to their pre-baby stage.  I paid (too much) for my bras and headed to the food court, the finest place to dine alone.

And promptly gorged myself on chicken teriyaki, vegetables, and rice.

Tate was practically foaming at the mouth and had a wild look of hunger in his eyes by the time I got home.  On the phone on my drive home from the mall, I’d called and told him about my brand new, perky boobies.  I promised a private viewing when I arrived home.  It was the least I could do to make up for his long day with two sick children.

I tried on the first one, but something was WRONG!  I could barely get it fastened.  When I did finally get it fastened, after having broken a sweat and a few nails, I looked in the mirror and saw my previously perky boobies peeking out of the top of my bra.  “Helloooo!” my boobies waved.  And the back fat, back fat (loaded up with things and knickknacks, too)!  You are not supposed to see excess boobage and back fat!  The bra was TOO SMALL.  A 30 C, I was not.

How could these bras have fit five hours before??   Damn chicken teriyaki.

Here’s my question.  I can’t wear them, unless I plan on only wearing them on days I won’t be eating, which is pretty rare.  I haven’t removed the tags, but I feel like a dunce, having tried them on, even having HELP when I tried them on.  I hate having to return things, especially something like a bra, which I don’t even know CAN be returned?  What do you think, can I return the bras?

(PSST…today is Delurking day (brainchild of Rude Cactus and Greeblemonkey)  Feel free to leave a comment and say hello, even if it’s not about my bra issues.  I totally understand if you don’t want to participate in a discussion about my boobs.)