We (Mom and I) went shopping the other day, and we ended up in the lingerie section. Btw, Malaysia seriously needs better lingerie, ones that don't bellow "TACKY!" like a wounded whale. Black string briefs you can untie with your teeth? Oui. Red allover sheer negligee overloaded with garish sequins and feathers? Oh sweet mother of god, Non, non non NON!!

Before you ask, the trip didn't end in an entire disaster, and my mom got what she wanted, while I got what I wanted, which are some boy-cut briefs in bold multi-coloured stripes that makes my ass look cute. Now to show them off. *grins* Anyway, I was reminded again why I'm still wearing the same old bras I always wear when I go out, and why I shop in bulk when I find my bra straps fraying. It's because I don't like shopping for bras. I actually have a list, which is nicely bolded below for your reading pleasure.



Things I hate about 'helpful' sales aunties manning the bra counters:
One: Gods above, woman, back off with that tape measure!
They just have absolutely no sense of decorum. It's embarassing to be measured in public, because, well, it's just embarassing. I don't go around discussing vaginal thrush and the size of my clitoris in public, loudly, so I don't expect my chest measurements to be hollered from 1 counter to the next in the effort to find a bra that fits me. It's not a lot to ask, just a little discretion, that's all.

Of course, being that they're aunties, I've gotten used to this whole routine, so now I just rummage around in the container where they stack up the bras nicely and start the whole game by pissing them off first. Figured if I'm gonna be embarassed I might as well make em blow a gasket while I'm at it. More wrinkles on their faces, the old hags, hah!

Two: She's just a late bloomer, that's all.
I am a customer, you are a sales lady. Your job is to find me what I want, my job is to buy it from you if you don't annoy me too much. We are not friends. Our relationship is strictly business, and strictly one-off, as in, once I get my bra I'm hightailing it outta here and you can't stop me. I do not need your consolation about the size of my not-very-significant chest. My maternal great-grandmother has small boobs, my maternal grandmother has small boobs, my (maternal side) aunts have small boobs, my mother has small boobs. You can probably make an educated guess as to where I'm going with this. I'm reconciled to the fact that my chest is probably going to stay the size it is right now. Sidenote: there's always a chance I'll inherit some of the genes from my dad's side, where the women have large (very large!) breasts, but they come with a large derriere too, so nah.

I'm happy with what I have. Well, I'm as happy as I can be, since, short of surgery, there's really nothing much I can do about it, and I'm not a pain slut, so no surgery.



Three: We have a new arrival from UK/America/Italy that'll enhance your bust by a whole cup size!
...the downside is you have to strap a steel-reinforced contraption stuffed with lumpy padding around your chest the whole day. Comfort above everything else, darling, that's my motto. I don't really get this whole push-up concept anyway. If I don't have it, then I don't have it, end of story. There's no point in pretending I'm rich and can afford to drive a brand spanking new 2005 Lotus Elise 2dr Roadster in Storm Titanium when all I can afford is a pretty fugly Kancil. (tadaa!)

Nowadays, after being heckled endlessly by my insensitive guy friends, I'm fairly used to self-deprecating humour about my chest. Whenever the aunties recommend a push-up bra, I say to them, very politely, that, "I've got to have something to push up in the first place." and then laugh very sincerely while simultaneusly shooting them a chilly stare, also very sincerely. They usually get the message.

Actually, my mom's partly to blame as well. She's the one who got me onto the padded bra route when it was apparent that nature wasn't gonna give me a belated growth spurt, and in my youthful naivete, I listened to her and let her buy me all sorts of made-by-NASA anti-gravity thingamajigs to make my chest look bigger. Maybe she's passing on her complex to me. *shrugs*

Anyway, I still think my mother knows the answers to a lot of the questions in life, but one thing's for sure. I'm not going bra-shopping with her anymore.



Footnote: Astute readers would no doubt by now realise that this post is just another vain attempt at legitimising the pictures of half-naked women I've posted. Yeah, it's women in bras now, but eventually this blog'll graduate to a fully-blown porn site with women in kitschy nurse uniforms or french maid outfits doing unmentionable things. Don't say I didn't warn you. :D

Footnote 2: Clickity click for the bras featured. My favourite is the middle one in the first row. If only it didn't cost an arm and a leg.