Fine lingerie...
I had arrived early to my dance class last Monday and decided to window shop along Yonge and Bloor. My eye had drifted to the flashing open sign on a lingerie shop and while the small pieces of exquisite lingerie hanging on the petite manikin should have discouraged me from heading inside, I went in anyway. Maybe to amuse myself that someone of my size (I thought I was a 38DD till I walked into this store) could never wear pretty looking lacy things and had to bear the burden of being stuck with granny type bras and panties.
An elderly woman with a thick Russian accent greeted me and asked if she could be of any help. With forty five minutes to spare, I figured I could be bold and ask her for my size just to see her reaction, which I thought would have been a polite nod and smile with an apology for not carrying my particular size.
Incidentally, that was not her reaction at all. Raising a quizzical brow and with a serious expression, she replied that they don't carry that size but to bring my mother in and she can measure her for a better fit. I nearly chuckled. Cancel that. I all out laughed. The expression on the lady's face changed from slightly amused to all out shock!
"Not for you!" Her accent became thicker as the realization that the intended size was for me not my mother. Within minutes, she had me standing inside a fitting room, taking off my layers of clothes and measuring my boobies. After she made her examinations with her hands and measuring tape, she said with a warm smile that I've been wearing the wrong size and I'm actually a 34G.
A few minutes passed and as I continued to stare at her not quite grasping the reality of the situation, she politely replied. "Honey, you're wearing the wrong size. You're a 34G. Here, let me show you what we have..."
All I can remember from that day are bright colors, pastels, laces and frills; you name 'em and I wore 'em! Yes, I did! And the feeling that followed was exhilarating. The lady had been nice enough to pull out matching panties. So... two bras, one panty and four hundred and thirty dollars later, I walked out feeling like a million bucks.
I still haven't worn those bras yet. Afraid that I might enjoy them too much and be tempted to purchase another hefty sum on pretty colors and lacy delights...