There is no such thing as a fun day of shopping when you’ve got big bewbs

So today H sent me out into the world with his debit card (WOO HOO TAX RETURN!) and told me to pick up a few shirts that are weather appropriate. So I merrily skipped along to Old Navy (trying to get more bang for my buck and not look like I just waltz out of the thrift store…though I do enjoy second hand shops). And that’s when the merriness stopped. Like a screeching halt just in time to prevent a collision with a mac truck stop. Shirts, by and large, are not made for women who have big busts and smaller waists. As discussed before (f.ck you, find the post called BEWBS! yer damn self), I’m a 36DDD. This means the top of my tops has to be a large (or extra large depending on the cut) while everything below the boob-area can be a medium to large (again, depending on the cut). However, shirts are not made like that, unless you’re ordering from Bravissimo, and I just don’t have the sort of money that let’s me pay for something in £s (the British pound is worth about $2…so just double the price of everything and there you have it) and have it shipped from the UK to here.

This means a lot of rack diving and store hopping to find the right shirt that doesn’t strain at the bust or look like you bought it in the maternity section.

Old Navy was a bust (no pun intended). Everything was cut low, haltered and made for skinny bitches who don’t have 36DDD puppies to keep in line and thus can go bra-less (*deep breath* I don’t hate skinny girls…I don’t hate skinny girls…I don’t hate skinny girls).

So I hit Dress Barn…where the sizes aren’t quite what they say they are. I found a few shirts on sale (YAY SALE!). One was a 3/4 length shirt with a cute print on the front and back in French about bicycles. The only size they had was a medium and I’m hoping that it stretches a bit in the wash or else The Girls may make an unexpected appearance one of these days. The other was a great button down with an attached belt. It took three tries to find a shirt that fit properly. The medium gave the clear threat that if I so much as yawned the tiny little plastic button that just barely held my shirt together at the bust was going to go flying and put someone’s eye out. Large was more subtle; it gave the message that even though it fit right everywhere else, the strain on the button at my bust threw up a big red sign that read “I really wanted this shirt and am willing to ignore the fact that it doesn’t fit right across the boobs just so I can have it.” Not good. So I had to go to extra large. If it weren’t for the attached belt, the damn thing would still be on the rack. Sure it fit perfectly across the bust, but without the belt it’d look like I had grabbed it from the maternity section.

Sigh

Next stop was Marshall’s. Yeah that was a joke. Off to Plato’s closet. Ok, before you go on about how I’m wrong for being just this side of thirty and shopping in a second hand store that specialises in juniors clothes just one thing: kiss my ass. I get my clothes cheap and if I have to go digging through racks of clothes that make me want to weep because an extra large is barely big enough for me to breathe in…I will.

I grabbed a few shirts there, tried them on, and put them back. On my way out the store a long white Indian style tunic with silver embroidery caught my eye. Extra large and $14 (it was J Crew so it probably cost the original owner over $30). I said screw trying it on, snatched it off the rack and slapped down the cash (well, debit card) for it.

I also dropped by WalMart (which I usually avoid because…well because it’s WalMart and WalMart is the devil), and for some reason their plus sized women’s section is three times the size of their regular section so I moseyed over to the mens section and found an awesome Lynard Skynard thermal for $5. SCORE!

I skipped home merrily, trying to ignore the injustice that there are a ton of cute shirts out there that don’t fit because I have big boobs.

I do the same thing when I return home from jeans shopping. The day I buy a pair of jeans without the booty gap will be the happiest day of my life.

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