OK, thought that would get your attention! More precisely, we need to talk about bras... a new bra to be exact, the incomfortable-ness of which has just driven me to interrupt my barely begun working day because of underwire rib pokage. Not something that can ever be ignored for long.
What is it with bras lately, they don't lift, they don't separate, they don't allow you to move with freedom and in many cases they don't allow you to get through the day without a really bad headache and stiff neck? It wasn't always this way, no, there were certain shops on the High Street, _&_ , in particular, who could always be relied upon to support your assets, but not any longer. No, even our High Street dependables have succumbed to the pursuit of profit over anything approaching quality and now get everything made in China on the cheap.
When I say "cheap" that doesn't seem to be "cheap" to us the consumer, just cheaper for them to manufacture and sell at the old price, hence more profit. I'm sure they will insist that we still get quality in the lovely fabrics and design - no argument from me there - but to my mind the whole point of a bra is to make a woman look and feel good. I can find bras on the High Street that make me look good, but they can only be worn for an hour, maybe two, before terrible neck, shoulder and head pain begins to set in and so I have settled for comfort... and wear my bouncy baubles considerably lower than I used to!
I know someone is bound to chirp up with another High Street name who purport to support the more well endowed lady with wide strappage (the name begins in Bra and ends in a strangely masculine "o") but I have found their sales staff too aggressively sure that I don't know my own bra size (...of course I know my size - anything between a 34D and a 36G, depending on the style, the shop and of course, sometimes it will be both extremes in the same style in the same shop... I recently tried on a bra that didn't even have two cups of the same size) before I even try anything on and simply won't leave me alone to browse. They may indeed have the perfect combination of comfort, support and style for me on one of their dainty little hangers but I have never remained unharassed by the sales-harpies for long enough to find it.
Imagine my distress, when recently, despite being far less than half the reputed 25 stone of the late great Hattie Jacques, I was addressed as "Matronly" by my own mother who was so appalled at the effects of gravity on my underpinnings. I had resorted (as usual) to my ancient battleship grey (it began life as a perky blinding white) lycra "T Shirt" bra, purchased, if my sepia tinted memory serves, from one of those backwater Underwear-only emporiums where well-upholstered Mrs Slocombe-like attendants roamed with a tape measures slung casually round their necks. Yes, those places ONLY sold underwear, could tell your size, cup and marital status from the merest glance and seem to have all disappeared along with any hope I have of finding a well fitting, supportive boulder holder that isn't some kind of torture device. I despair!