I always envy those sales people who are so enthralled with their product that their enthusiasm nears eerie. After being fitted for my latest bridesmaid dress I was told I would be needing a very, very special bra...one nothing less than what can be purchased at The Perfect Fit in Tustin, California.
We went to the shop and the saleswoman was one of these folks who LOVES what she sells. I was so blown away by her passion for undergarments that I didn't even catch her name. For now we'll call her the "Bra enthusiast (BE)." BE took me into the antique decorated fitting room. There was one of those old school, fabric stools, which was used to hold my current (and apparently ghetto) bra and a thick velvet curtain used to hide my shirtlessness. BE was very intense. Her bra-related verbiage was spoken with precision and seriousness. This was a no-nonsense matter. She started by measuring me. I asked if she needed me to take off the bra I was wearing, wanting an accurate measure obvi. No one wants to spend almost a hundo on a bra that doesn't fit. She told me she wasn't going to "expose me." I was okay with being exposed, BE seemed nice enough...probably not the best rule of thumb in the game of taking bras off!
She continued to sensitively inform me that I was wrong about my cup size and am in fact a "good F" with a lot of "wealth on top." This is why my calling in life is definitely not being a bra saleswoman. Back to the F-word...first of all, those fancy-pants (or fancy underpants in this case) stores always tell customers what they think they want to hear. If you're a size 10, at Neiman Marcus you're considered a 6. If you're a double-D, apparently you're now an F...a completely hypothetical example of course. BE scolded me for wearing bras that "smash the girls" and told me to enjoy the wealth God gave me. If you say so BE. She fitted me into a beautiful strapless bra with a bodess and made me bend over to "fluff the girls." There is a very specific way to fluff. Using the opposite hand of the "girl" you're fluffing, use the palm to push from outside the girl around to underneath the girl, leaving the wire right underneath, so that the girl is supported. I started to wonder if there was in fact a third person that somehow entered the conversation without my attention. What girl? I thought we were talking about my...? Oooooooooooooooooh....that girl. I felt a bit uncomfortable since the newly fitted bra allowed for so much, as BE would say, wealth. My cup had runnith over! Apparently this is how this works, and once the gown is on the girls will be in proper position. Before I put back on my smasher, BE made me practice putting the fancy ditty on (hook and eye, things like that) and quizzed me, "Now, which girl are you gonna fluff?"
We went to the shop and the saleswoman was one of these folks who LOVES what she sells. I was so blown away by her passion for undergarments that I didn't even catch her name. For now we'll call her the "Bra enthusiast (BE)." BE took me into the antique decorated fitting room. There was one of those old school, fabric stools, which was used to hold my current (and apparently ghetto) bra and a thick velvet curtain used to hide my shirtlessness. BE was very intense. Her bra-related verbiage was spoken with precision and seriousness. This was a no-nonsense matter. She started by measuring me. I asked if she needed me to take off the bra I was wearing, wanting an accurate measure obvi. No one wants to spend almost a hundo on a bra that doesn't fit. She told me she wasn't going to "expose me." I was okay with being exposed, BE seemed nice enough...probably not the best rule of thumb in the game of taking bras off!
She continued to sensitively inform me that I was wrong about my cup size and am in fact a "good F" with a lot of "wealth on top." This is why my calling in life is definitely not being a bra saleswoman. Back to the F-word...first of all, those fancy-pants (or fancy underpants in this case) stores always tell customers what they think they want to hear. If you're a size 10, at Neiman Marcus you're considered a 6. If you're a double-D, apparently you're now an F...a completely hypothetical example of course. BE scolded me for wearing bras that "smash the girls" and told me to enjoy the wealth God gave me. If you say so BE. She fitted me into a beautiful strapless bra with a bodess and made me bend over to "fluff the girls." There is a very specific way to fluff. Using the opposite hand of the "girl" you're fluffing, use the palm to push from outside the girl around to underneath the girl, leaving the wire right underneath, so that the girl is supported. I started to wonder if there was in fact a third person that somehow entered the conversation without my attention. What girl? I thought we were talking about my...? Oooooooooooooooooh....that girl. I felt a bit uncomfortable since the newly fitted bra allowed for so much, as BE would say, wealth. My cup had runnith over! Apparently this is how this works, and once the gown is on the girls will be in proper position. Before I put back on my smasher, BE made me practice putting the fancy ditty on (hook and eye, things like that) and quizzed me, "Now, which girl are you gonna fluff?"
Uh...the right girl.
Why?
Cuz the right girl is smaller than the left girl.
That's right.
Now give me what's left on your credit card.
Comments
i'm anxiously awaiting the post about Spanx next.........