Breast wishes!
Laura went to Dryden and was manhandled by a bra professional, and her experience reminded me of my own measuring incident, which happened sometime around the age of 15, and has thus inspired me to share my own rack stories.
I have a huge, heaving bosom, Internet, and maybe it's time you knew that. Although most of the time the heaving part is due to hot weather, or possibly wrestling out of a tshirt, usually also connected to hot weather, because disrobing is hard and I dream of a world where people just wear magic togas ALL THE TIME and never remove them, not even for bathing.
I developed early, like most Sovereign girls (I'm thinking of my cousin Melissa in particular, who was fully developed by about four.) and this lead to my first (albeit, very late) training bra in Grade Six. I really should have been venturing beyond the training bras at this period, which was evidenced during an unfortunate football game between the Grade Sevens, where, while carrying the football and running for a touchdown for the wrong team, my breasts popped out of my top and just kind of flopped around there until, triumphant, I scored a touchdown and lost the game for my entire team. After that I became one of those pasty, potentially borderline retarded girls who stayed indoors during gym period to work on crafts cut with safety scissors.
(Which is pretty much how, in elementary school, I fell in with the Special Ed crowd, who were all awesome. We hung out in the Spec Ed room during lunch hours, where we'd discuss the goings-on of the latest episode of Sailor Moon, which is where, in Grade Seven, I finally burst out that my secret dream was to BE Sailor Moon, just because I would do a much better job than the fictional Anime character currently playing her. ... Yes, Internet, this is a time for sharing.)
I eventually became a touch more bra savvy, which worked just fine until the age of 15 when, after a jaunty match of track and field, my gym teacher Mrs. Thompson pulled me aside to let me know that I might want to invest in a bra with more support, since I'd just given a free show to the entire football field.
Embarrassed, I ran home and cried to my Alzheimer-ridden grandmother all about my gym humiliation (not to mention that I was wearing grey spandex stirrup pants and a white tshirt at the time.) and she kind of shrugged, told me I was a nice girl, and then proceeded to welcome the chiming of her beloved patented bird clock with her hourly response of "PRETTY BIRD! PRETTY BIRD!" I loved that woman.
My mom took me to see a bra specialist who actually measured me. She was this kicky, outgoing woman who had the pleasure of being the first person to reach second base with me.
I have no idea what my measurement was at that time, but I do remember her taking a bra the size of a hefty bag off the rack and telling me to try it on. Many bras later I was introduced to the wonder of underwire and my world has never been the same.
I have a huge, heaving bosom, Internet, and maybe it's time you knew that. Although most of the time the heaving part is due to hot weather, or possibly wrestling out of a tshirt, usually also connected to hot weather, because disrobing is hard and I dream of a world where people just wear magic togas ALL THE TIME and never remove them, not even for bathing.
I developed early, like most Sovereign girls (I'm thinking of my cousin Melissa in particular, who was fully developed by about four.) and this lead to my first (albeit, very late) training bra in Grade Six. I really should have been venturing beyond the training bras at this period, which was evidenced during an unfortunate football game between the Grade Sevens, where, while carrying the football and running for a touchdown for the wrong team, my breasts popped out of my top and just kind of flopped around there until, triumphant, I scored a touchdown and lost the game for my entire team. After that I became one of those pasty, potentially borderline retarded girls who stayed indoors during gym period to work on crafts cut with safety scissors.
(Which is pretty much how, in elementary school, I fell in with the Special Ed crowd, who were all awesome. We hung out in the Spec Ed room during lunch hours, where we'd discuss the goings-on of the latest episode of Sailor Moon, which is where, in Grade Seven, I finally burst out that my secret dream was to BE Sailor Moon, just because I would do a much better job than the fictional Anime character currently playing her. ... Yes, Internet, this is a time for sharing.)
I eventually became a touch more bra savvy, which worked just fine until the age of 15 when, after a jaunty match of track and field, my gym teacher Mrs. Thompson pulled me aside to let me know that I might want to invest in a bra with more support, since I'd just given a free show to the entire football field.
Embarrassed, I ran home and cried to my Alzheimer-ridden grandmother all about my gym humiliation (not to mention that I was wearing grey spandex stirrup pants and a white tshirt at the time.) and she kind of shrugged, told me I was a nice girl, and then proceeded to welcome the chiming of her beloved patented bird clock with her hourly response of "PRETTY BIRD! PRETTY BIRD!" I loved that woman.
My mom took me to see a bra specialist who actually measured me. She was this kicky, outgoing woman who had the pleasure of being the first person to reach second base with me.
I have no idea what my measurement was at that time, but I do remember her taking a bra the size of a hefty bag off the rack and telling me to try it on. Many bras later I was introduced to the wonder of underwire and my world has never been the same.
Labels: Sarah Land, Stories
posted by sarah, the pirate at 6:49 PM
Hi. My name is
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12 Comments:
I'm doing another test because my comments act lamely sometimes, and I can't believe no one has yet commented on stories about my rack, not to even mention the fact that I admitted I was the queen of spec ed back in elementary school.
OR that I wanted to BE Sailor Moon.
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Hmm. I think I'm a living example AGAINST your Sovereign-girls-developing-early hypothesis. At the ripe old age of 22 I'm STILL as flat as a beaver's tail. :p
That football sotory, though, I'm sure I've done something on par with. I'm willing to admit that THAT one might be genetic. ;)
Thanks for keeping us abreast of the issue! You should really put up pics that are more than just tight head shots ;).
pffft, why would I do that. lol
There's enough pictures of me on the Internet already.
I was the Queen of Spec Ed in High School! :D And I totally remember Mrs. Thompson taking you aside that day in Grade 9 re: a Sports bra. I was standing right beside you :P *LOL*
Gencousin, think of all the back problems you're saved from. And dude, really, I feel like we are close enough that I can tell you I like your rack.
Sovereign's are obviously not genetically engineered to be athletic. Uhm... or graceful. Uhm, or even good at board games, really.
TANNERS!!: I totally remember hanging out in the Spec Ed room in Grade Nine and you'd be doing art assignments.. it's not that you were a spec edder as much as you just didn't really feel like doing anything because everything was hard. lol ... and that day with Mrs. Thompson... wow.
Do you remember aerobics in the smelly padded wrestling room???
And DAVE!! I LOVE YOUR COMMENT!!!!
I would totally work as a boob measurer. That wouldn't be socially awkward at all.
Particularly in Thunder Bay, where I'm related to everyone.
What you talking about? Art was HARD! *LOL* :P Some of us just aren't natural artists...
And I totally remember the smelly wrestling room. But the women's change room was no better :P
Best. Post. Ever. :)Þ
That's a good point, Tanners, about the change room. Gym was generally a place where stuff smelled.
Did you ever take sculpture? Or was that OAC art? I freaking hated sculpture. I remember I was trying to make the worlds greatest strawberry shaped jar, but in the end it looked more like a lump of misshapen clay... so I just gave up and left it in the kiln.
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