Girl Talk Thursday: Grungy Undies*

*Cos you know at some point my undies are gonna make it out of the laundry basket.

I remember when I was a little girl I had pants with the days of the week written on them.  Now I’m much much older, I reckon it’d be cool to have pants like that again.  Only I’m not my mother; there’s no way I’d have the right pants washed and ready for the right days.

And that would be my underwear dilemma.  Never the right item for the right time.

When I was a mere 11 years old, my friends marvelled at the fact that I’d already reached an A cup when they were still in their training bras.  Then I felt special.  I didn’t realise that it was the start of my body trying to give me a rack to compare with Lolo Ferrari.  By the time I was 15 I was a blossoming 34C.  Sure, I wasn’t thin with it, but damn, I had assets.  Just as shame there were no guys worth flaunting them around.

By 18 and a little extra weight I’d hit a 38DD, big enough that shirts wouldn’t fit around my bust and my stomach at the same time, and big enough that half the shops  didn’t go up to my size.  I dreamt that one day I would be small enough to be able to buy a wonderbra.  Still, there were a couple of places I could go to buy undies, and buy undies I did.  Shape and colour didn’t matter, if I could spend my money on new undies I would.

And then I got pregnant.  And bigger.  And all those beautiful, multicoloured undies didn’t fit any more.  But I kept them, just in case.  I could look at my collection and dream whilst standing in my plain black and white boring undies.  Because you couldn’t buy anything that wasn’t a boring black or white, and certainly nothing strapless or crossover, in a 38GG.

And then I heard of a wonderful placethat did grundies in all imaginable colours for those of us who may have been slightly overblessed.  So I shunned M&S’ notoriously awful bra fitting service (I worked there in the past, and the amount of untrained teens they let loose with a tape measure is enough to make you steer clear) and headed over there.  And holy crap you cannot seriously think that I’m a 34HH.  But it was true.  I even went across to Debenhams to get a second opinion.  But hey, at least I knew I could re-start my colourful collection.  Until I saw the price tags on these babies.  Knowing I was desperately trying to loose weight, I invested in some plain and boring bras and just kept going back as my back dropped down to a 32 and my cup to a H.  Not far to go and the cheap bras I’d once known were in sight.  You could even get a G in strapless and backless and crossover now.

And I fell off the dieting wagon.  Yeah, both my undies collection and I agreed that it was not my smartest. move.  Especially when I eventually remeasured as a 32JJ.  Holy crap, one or two more cup sizes and I wouldn’t even be able to buy a bra that fitted.

So instead of worrying about it, I got pregnant again.  And increased my back size to a 36.  But at least that meant I could knock off one of those Js. 

This time around, my undies are old and battered and come in a collection of black and white.  If I’m really feeling adventurous in a day, I may even thrown on a grey or nude.  But, rest assured, once this kid’s popped I’ll be demanding my boob job from anyone who will cough up the money, and as a tiny boobed (and hopefully flat stomached from the tummy tuck) woman, I’ll be back to my collection and sexy as hell!

Well, a girl can dream, can’t she.