Guys... my whole world has been flipped on its head.
I went to Journelle, otherwise known as boob mecca, to browse around and see all my bra week picks in the flesh. We started to debate the salesperson on our sizing and Haley, not believing what this lady was selling, opted to get measured. I wasn't about to try anything on, but then I got curious... "measure me, tooooo," I shouted while running into their dressing room already sans shirt.
And that's precisely when my mind was blown to smithereens.
I am not a 34A. I am, in fact, a big boobied lady measuring in a whoppin' 30C.
What da fuck?
Are you as confused as I am? Because the visual size of my boobs is literally the molehill. Not the mountain. How can I be a C?! I called Ryan to inform him of the news and he laughed at me, told me I was definitely not a C and called bullshit on their measuring tools, and then made some joke about going to the dick store to get measured and turns out he's 2ft long. He's on time out right now.
Apparently I, like most women of the world, have no concept or understanding of how bra sizing works. [ But I also want to make the note that I think this was my bustiest point of the month, the red wave was impending; so I bet I'm most accurately a 30-32B in daily life. Either way.. bonkers. ]
Cut back to the Journelle dressing room, post size announcement: There I was, incredulous. So I ran around the store looking for 30Cs to try on and low and behold they all fit perfectly.
So, I walked out of there with a new lil pretty friend from OnGossamer (which looks 100x better and satin-ier and mesh-ier on than online) and a little more sashay in my strut:
"A Bra That Fits". (A big C cup thank you to the girls on Twitter and YouTube for sharing this reference!)
Now if you excuse me, I need to burn the very last remnants of my crappy 34A Gap bras.