The Victoria's Secret Story

So, I think you are going to laugh when you read this story; everyone laughs when I tell it to them in real life! In order to tell you the REAL “Victoria’s Secret Story” I have to tell you another story first (for background). Some years ago when the Bunny and I first got together and I started to get acquainted with his family, I became fast friends with Jessica, his favorite niece – okay, I call Jessica “his favorite niece” because I know the Bunny was “her favorite uncle”… anyway! Jessica and I became friends.

It is a well-known fact – and a childhood pal I recently met for drinks also can attest to this – that I have never been very skilled in dressing myself. No, I can handle matching the same color socks; but I’m just not good at picking out clothes that accentuate my body type. That make me LOOK good. This is carry-over from my self-image problems which were burned into my poor fragile psyche from back in my formative years. So one day Jessica tells me “C’mon – I’m taking you shopping.” We head over to Kohl’s, one of my favorite clothing stores.

So, Jessica rolls up her sleeves, spits in her hands and rubs them together (no, I’m kidding, but I’m trying to give you the right mental picture) and surveys the racks of clothes with a practiced, knowing look in her eye. I make sure to tell her my pants size: 12. She looks at me with this skeptical expression and says, “You do NOT wear size 12!” I insist. “Jessica, really.. I wear size 12.” Now, in her head Jessica is thinking HELL NO you don’t wear size 12 you big DUMMY! But, she doesn’t comment aloud. “Okay,” she says, and she begins to roam around the store, selecting potentially cute outfits for me to try on – pants size 12.

We go to the fitting room. I try on my first pair of pants. I come out to model them for her, and she stands with her weight on one foot, chin in one of her hands, one eyebrow raised, checking me out from top to bottom. I turn around in circles so she can get the full view. Finally, after some minutes of silence, Jessica says, “Hmm. I don’t know… they just don’t LOOK right! Let me try something.”

She leaves and comes back with the same pair of pants, size 10. Her face says “humor me” and she hands the pants to me, saying, “Let’s see how these look on you.” I try on the size 10, come out, model, spin – just like before. That look is still there, the one that says “Hmmm… doesn’t look right.” She goes back and returns with a size 8.

By the time we left Kohl’s, I was wearing SIZE 4 PANTS. W.. T… F!! I couldn’t believe it. My brain could not process that my real pants size was NOT size 12. I had worn between size 10 and size 12 pants sizes all of my life. Needless to say, we got home that day and the Bunny was tickled, the fact that when his wife left that morning she wore size 12 pants, and a few hours later she came home wearing size 4 pants. Doh!

So here’s the Victoria’s Secret Story: Recently I had reason to go out and buy a strapless bra. I don’t own a strapless bra, but I bought a strapless dress to take a special photograph (subject of a future blog post) so I called upon my “official dresser” – Jessica! Time to go shopping! On a mission, I think we started at Macy’s – I forget why we started there, but we go to the bra section and talk to the salesgirl about the bra I am looking for. Again, I tell her my size: “I usually wear between 36 – 38, cup size B or C, depending on the bra.” The salesgirl looks at me, then looks down at the ladies, then looks back at me and says, “No, you are at least a D – maybe double D.” What do I do, I get mad. “I am NOT a double D! I am a C or a B!!” Fuck! These people don’t know SHIT! Anyway, so the salesgirl has me try on a 32 D – the “32” part was too tight. NOT comfortable. So Jessica makes an executive decision: let’s go to Victoria’s Secret, they will measure you properly there (after all, they ARE strictly a lingerie store).

At Victoria’s Secret, the salesgirl comes up and whips out her measuring tape. She reaches behind me, and first measures me underneath my arms and under the ladies, looks at the number, then she glances at the ladies themselves and looks at us both: “Oh, you’re a size 34 D.” Again, I get mad. “That CAN’T be right! I’ve ALWAYS worn a C cup!” Jessica tries to break the news to me.. then you’ve been wearing the wrong size bra all of this time. We go over to the dressing room where another salesgirl is standing in front of this cabinet - the cabinet holds a bunch of bras in different sizes, for 'trying on' purposes. (An aside: for all you women out there, if you have never shopped at Victoria’s Secret before, you MUST go buy a bra there at least once – it is a truly amazing experience. And you might find out you’ve been wearing the wrong size bra all your life.) The first salesgirl (the one that did the measuring) tells the one standing by the cabinet: “This lady needs a size 34 D.” I interrupt, “No, I’m sure it’s a C, not a D. Could you please give me 34 C?” She acquiesces to my request. I go into the changing room, and try on the first size 34 C bra. It looks awful.. the ladies are spilling out all over the sides. Yuck. I open the door and get the salesgirl’s attention. She comes over.

I point to all the spillage. “Why is this happening here?” She answers me in a matter-of-fact voice, “Because you are wearing the wrong cup size.” Dammit! DOUBLE D DAMMIT!!! I give up. I surrender. Okay, bring me the 34 D. Back in the changing room, I put on the bra, size 34 D… W.. T… F!! I cannot describe to all the men out there the wonderful feeling of wearing a bra that actually fits properly - but the women all probably know what I'm talking about. It was FRIGGING awesome. I grudgingly admitted I was, in fact, a size 34 D.

Now you know why people laugh when I tell this story. Nobody understands why having cup size D boobs would be upsetting to me. In my head, big boobs mean I’m a “bimbo.” I don’t WANT to be a bimbo. I certainly don’t want to attract people for the way I look – I want them to be attracted to me for ME.. because I’m smart, and I’m funny, and I have a good heart, and because I love animals, I’m low-maintenance, I’m a great cook, I’m fun to hang out with, etc. A good friend pointed out to me recently, “Shirley, you have to consider that maybe people ARE attracted to you for all those things. You have all of those qualities, AND you’re a size D.” Hmmmm. I guess that’s possible. Maybe. But I still watch pretty carefully when I meet new guys – if the eyes linger a little too long on the ladies, I know it’s not going to work out.

It does put a smile on my face to imagine what the Bunny would have said when I came home that day and he would have found out his wife was now a size D. No breast enlargement required! Just fifty bucks for a new bra; a bra in the right size. Who woulda thunk it.