You know those times when you learn something about yourself and you're floored?
***
I was on my last, sad bra. The underwire had come out of one cup, but I've been too lazy and embarrassed to go buy another one. I've been wearing the damn thing for three months, now, with only one cup 'up' and the other one...not up. Yeah. I know.

I suddenly wanted to rectify the situation immediately. Today. So I 'dragged' Michael into Victoria's Secret (because he HATES to shop for anything involving my breasts). We stand around for half an hour waiting for a little chippie to acknowledge my existence. Enter: black suited twelve year old.
"Do you need help?"
"Yes." And I just stare at her, hoping she'll read my mind. She's done this before. Leaning over in conspiratory manner, she whispers, "MEET ME IN THE FITTING AREA."
She does this thing with a tapemeasure involving me standing on my head and jumping and then, solemnly, pronounces my size.
I hit the floor. I'm surprised I haven't been CRAWLING on the floor with these enormous happy coconuts for the past four years.

I've been wearing a 36C ever since I was 18. Respectable size, no? Not too many would complain about 36C's.

You know what size I am?
A freakin...
gigantic...
enormous...
megalithic...