Call Em What They Are...Size L for Long

GOOOOOOD MOOOOOORNING!

It's early.  I'm tired.  I should clarify...it's not all that early NOW. It was early when my husband kept flipping and flopping and woke me up.  I have coffee now, and it's in a mug that looks like this:

So, things are looking up.  I'm not playing with you.  This mug was given to me Sunday by my long time friend, Trish. Does she know me, or does she know me?  It is, indeed, a very big ass mug! 

This morning in all of my delusions resulting from lack of caffeine, I began thinking about something.  Something I think we all need to talk about today.  Something that I think is very important. 
Before this conversation commences, we must first clear the room of any inappropriate viewers.  Much like the 'health talk' we all had with our school nurses in about 4th or 5th grade...this conversation is reserved for those of us who have girl parts. 
Boys, please go down the hall and wait there for the gym teacher to talk to you about unexpected hair and strange feelings about the teacher who wears too much perfume.  We will signal you when you can return.


Now. In honor of our talk today, I have changed the colors of our blog to represent a certain retailer in which those of us who have estrogen may shop.  It's a pretty store, with awnings over the windows and lots of fun colored items for us to root through with approximately 47 other women at any given time.  They place all of these pretty, rainbow colored items in bins, and beneath them are drawers marked with sizes.  Mysteriously, looking in said drawers with said sizes does not actually mean you will FIND that size in that drawer...it's just to humor you and imply that they have organized the chaos behind their doors.  Give it up.  You ain't gonna find your size in there.  Not in under 60 minutes anyway. 
Equally as mysterious is the actual size of the articles in that store.  Or, to raise the bar one while we are talking about mysterious, is the IQ of some of the girls that work in said store.  Sure, she walks around with a measuring tape around her neck and she wears a nametag...but ask her a question and you may or may not get an accurate answer..(stop it. If you work there and are actually helpful and kind...I'm not talking about YOU)
I have told you before that I love zumba.  Zumba helped me lose the 20 lbs I had been carrying for years.  Silly me, I went up into the ole VS thinking I was going to shop there.  The only time I had ever purchased anything there was with a gift card from a dear friend. I was 7 or 8 months pregnant, and bought size XL underwear there. (remember this, there's a quiz later)
So I go to the mall and walk in there feeling pretty good.  I am currently a size 6 in pants. (remember this too).  I am rooting through the piles of undies looking for something that doesn't say "Call Me" or "All Nighter" or "Skanky Hooker" on the butt or crotch; a true feat in itself.  I also have this thing about an article of clothing intended to cover my butt actually covering my butt.  Therefore, I was skipping the bins that included things that looked like a slingshot.
As I am looking, my blood pressure is rising because I have limited my options so significantly by expecting them to actually have undies that a mother of younger children should wear.  I'm sorry, I don't want to worry about my daughter seeing "Party Girl" across my ass if she walks into my room as I get dressed for church.  Call me nuts.
So, the meausuring tape guru comes up and asks if she can help me.  She looks me over, and proclaims that she thinks I am going to need a size Large.  Let's back up, shall we?  I nearly took this hooker down in that rack of discheveled skank-wear.  So, if I was, oooooh, 40 lbs heavier and 8 mos pregnant wearing an XL....Logic would tell us that if I am now a size 6, I should not need a Large, should I?  I worked my ass off to get into that store feeling somewhat ready to tackle those bins.  I'm gonna take a size Large and wrap it around your neck until you wind up in the floor.
She was probably 22.  She had no kids.  She had no clue.  Needless to say, I didn't buy anything.  Not even the ones that said 'Your Girlfriend Says Hi' 
This leads me to the next thing.  How many of you are big chested?  Now, show of hands, how many of you wear a bra whose size ends in DD?  I have news for you.  You are NOT a DD.  You have a DD because that's as big as the bras go in that stupid store.  Therefore, a girl with Mt Everest on her chest is gonna be given a DD.  Are they gonna pass up a sale?  Nope! 
Look down there right now.  Do it!  Is the center of your bra touching your person at this time?  Can you slide at least one Hot Wheel between the center of your bra and your skin?  You can, can't you?  Does the back band of your bra all but strangle you as it rides up your back? 
YOUR BRA DOES NOT FIT!
Stop shopping in that place unless their crap actually fits you!  I say this because I know how it changed my life when I went to Nordstrom and got a real bra fitting.  I was walking around in a 38DD (this was in my heavier day).  Guess what.  That's not what I wore.  I wore a 36FF.  Uh huh.  Like, FFFFFFFFFudgecicles.....that's a big difference.  Once I got those things hoisted up where they went, it was amazing how much better my clothes fit.  I felt like I had gone on a diet there in that dressing room!  And the girls at Nordstrom, or a specialty store, or Lane Bryant even?  Yeah, they are nice.  They aren't usually 22, and they don't look at you down their noses, either.
I have a whole stack now of $60-$80 boulder holders that I can no longer wear.  The cups on those suckers are large enough to be work as hats by conjoined twins in the winter.  I mentioned this to 3 of my big chested friends, because I hate to think that they are going to waste.  Each of them replied to me that they thought they would be too big for them.  OMG.  They all think they wear a DD....They each look like they are smuggling bald men's heads in their shirts, and they think they wear a DD.  Lord have mercy. 
I replied to them that I am wearing a DDD as we speak.  Suddenly they gave me the VS measuring tape girl look....Looked me up, looked me down, raised eyebrows, cocked head sideways and said "Huh?"
These girls.  I tell ya.  Stop looking at the pretty store with it's summer colors and blow up dogs for bait and full line of clothing that says "Pink" on it.  Find something that fits you.  You will feel so good.  Stop letting Bambi make you feel like crap about yourself just to say that you have something from that store. 
If you like that store.  If that stuff fits you....rock on with your bad self.  Good for you.  But stop conforming to their sizes, which results in a bad fit and makes you look like you have front boobs, back boobs and side boobs.  I promise you, you will find a waist you didn't know you had underneath those suckers if you will just get them up where they go.
Granted, you may feel like you are wearing a life-preserver when you first get them up there.  It took a little getting used to.
Promise me you will try.  PINKY PROMISE RIGHT HERE!  Stop wearing that D or DD.  PLEASE!

Man do I feel better!  I see you in the store.  I know those girls can look better.  Hold em proud.  We have been through a ridiculous amount of trials and tribulations with those things...we owe them, dammit! 
It doesn't matter what they look like behind closed doors.  Once you get em hoisted up there and put clothes on, they look GOOD!  So they are lopsided.  So they didn't fair so well through the childbirth and nursing thing.  You don't need a $10,000 boob job.  You need a $60 bra.  Stand on your head if you have to to get em locked and loaded.  Bend over, jump up and down, lay on the bed, lube em up, whatever it takes.  Most of us have had kids.  We have lost weight, found weight...Sure, they ain't what they used to be.  Maybe they should truthfully be called Size 34 L for Long.  :)
But that's ok.  It's like wrestling a hog.  You're gonna sweat.  You may fall down.  You're gonna be be exhausted and But once you get em into the pin where they belong, you'll feel so good!
You'll be glad you did. 

Now THIS would be an Olympic sport we could get into.  We could call ourselves the Loooong Wranglers.