Larry the left and Romily the right, much maligned by me for shrinking at an unfair rate of knots and lopsidedly to boot are in dire need of an apology of the A* star kind, one that I think will need to be delivered via the medium of the Bravissimo catalogue and a hefty slice of next months wages. Due to her impending nuptuals, my best girl went off to get her bee stings measured and was told that in actual fact, she wasn’t a B cupped beauty but a D cupped delight which led to much discussion and giggling about the fact that my massive mammaries were currently encased in a brown spotty/lacy D cup number, but were spilling forth like frat guys towards a free bar. Taking my bridesmaidly duties very seriously I was dispatched towards Marksies with one clear aim – to let a strange woman get intimate with the girls.
I think it is a very British ability to make inane small talk whilst letting someone examine our rude bits and without fail I always go into ‘auto-witter’ mode when having a smear test as if to distract the nurse from staring into the black hole of my lady garden. Today was no exception and within minutes Bra Lady (although she was about 19 – horrors!) and I were happily chatting away about Michelle Obama’s bare arms and the state of the weather whilst she sized up my breasticular appendages. She visibly balked when I told her I was wearing a D cup and instantly said I was more like an F – EFF!!!!! After much toing and froing we settled on a 38E and I was sent off scolded like a naughty schoolgirl to go and find some styles I liked. She valiantly refrained from sniggering when I told her that Bridezilla (who hasn’t actually been like that) wanted me to get a bra with a ‘bit of oomph, maybe even padded’ and reminded me that as an E cup, I have enough padding to go around!