Are you a D or a G?

Yesterday at work a few of us lady folks somehow got to talking about bras and breasts. I find it always to be a fascinating conversation (I am sure some men might find it fascinating too, but in different ways). One of the main reasons I find talking about bras, breasts, boobs, breast reductions, breast increases so interesting is that we all come in different shapes and sizes and we all have such different and rich experiences from puberty to adulthood.

AND…I believe that most of us are not wearing the right sized bra. How can we really know with sub par service and support? I have two places in Portland that have real knowledge about bras: Nordstrom and a local bra store that cater to women who are pregnant or breast-feeding, women who have had a mastectomy, or women that have a strange size (28D to 56K) – yes those sizes really do exist. Most department stores like Macy’s do not carry the correct bra size, and even Nordstrom at times has had to order my size.

A C cup size was average when I was growing up, and anything larger meant you had big boobs. I can remember a few years ago watching an episode of Oprah dedicated to bra makeovers. Here is a photo gallery + explanation of some good examples. So often we are wearing a band size that is way to large and we sag way more than necessary. A 34D might better fit as a 32E or F (depending on if the bra is a European bra). Just as this Empowher article says:

“D is small, G is average, N is off the charts, so if you think you are a D, you are probably a G. Most DD’s end up as a G or H cup when fits properly.”

The article also mentions that only 15% of all women are wearing their bra correctly. I am part of that small minority. I would pay good money to have a bra that feels invisible, is comfortable, does not hurt my back, and is not atrociously ugly.  Often the ones that are attractive are also not supportive. More and more there are boutique shops that are popping up and carrying more accurate sizing. There is chain of stores called “Intimacy” that assist with bra fitting, however we do not have one in Portland. It is a good name for a bra store, as it is an intimate experience to have someone measuring + sizing your wobbly top half.

So, do you know if you are wearing a D but really should be sporting a G?

Barefoot at airport security

There is one place in the world that I absolutely detest. There is no way around it if you want to fly the friendly skies:

Airport security.

Yuck is all I can think of to describe it. Over the weekend we flew down to Oakland to see my sister, brother-in-law, and of course my 6 month old niece. Usually the plane that goes between Portland and Oakland is a turbo prop. I do not mind the turbo prop, but often it gets chilly down by your feet. I have no idea why that type of aircraft is so dang cold, but it means that I try to make sure I am not wearing my beloved flip-flops when flying for fear of frost bite on my toes.

Alas, it means I usually wear running shoes when I know I will be flying in a turbo prop, but sucks when going through security. Why is it that the place in the airport that they make you take off your shoes is also the filthiest, most disgusting place seemingly in the airport (well maybe second to most bathrooms)? I am a bit strange, I would rather go barefoot then keep my socks on. There is something about walking across the floor in my socks and then putting my socks in my shoes and transferring sock filth to the inside of my shoes. I guess sort of like walking through dog poop and then putting your shoes on directly afterwards. For some reason, I would rather be barefoot, and then walk across the floor on my tippy toes, sit down, wipe any dirt, stray hairs, and whatever random gunk off my bare feet before putting my socks and shoes back on. Strange I know, but that is how my mind works.

Why is it that the place they make you take your shoes off never looks like it has been vacuumed or cleaned? I have seen Macy’s dressing rooms with cleaner floors and that is not saying much. They usually close security down for a few hours a night, you would think the last people on the shift could vacuum and mop. Or, they could send in a cleaning crew. Or do they clean it each night and us humans shed that much grossness in a day?

Who knows. I still dread taking my shoes off going through security. Who knows what the person before you left behind. I shudder thinking about it, breathe deep, and release the thought of it until my next trip.