My philosophy has always been, when you find something that works, stick with it. This was true for my preferred brand of peanut butter, my husband and my bras. Although some people may find it boring to stick with the same style of bra for years and years, for those of us who are a tough fit, finding a good bra can be as important as finding a good husband, but generally with more support.
Shopping for replacement bras, therefore, is not usually a big deal. I go to the department store, show the saleslady my bra, tell her my size and she comes back with brand new versions of the same thing.
But then one day I went to the store, asked for my bra, and the saleslady shook her head.
“We don’t carry those anymore.”
I blinked at her in disbelief. I suddenly felt woozy and the room began to swim. Her words sounded very far away as she added, “They discontinued that style.”
“Huh?” I replied stupidly. “They distinguished the fire?”
“No,” she repeated slowly. “THEY DISCONTINUED THAT STYLE!”
In my peripheral vision the bras began to blur. I turned and saw the racks of lingerie around me begin to sway and the ground start to tremble. There would be no more perfect bras for me. The brapocalypse had arrived.
Somewhere in the distance I could hear someone screaming. It was moments later that I realized it was me.
“What? NO!! They can’t have,” I bellowed. “Why? WHY?? Why would they do such a thing? It was the ideal bra.”
“There, there,” said the saleslady, patting me gently on the shoulder. “They have some new styles that are even more comfortable and have much better support. Come, I’ll show you.”
She guided me to the racks where my former bras used to hang and I choked back a sob.
Instead of my tried and true bras, they now had these lacy padded things, which anyone with large ladies know will make you look like you have four sets of cleavage. Then she showed me another style that smushed everything together to create the dreaded uniboob. Finally, she introduced me to a third style with some improved technology that supposedly gave you support without an underwire, but in reality had your ladies resting on your knees.
“None of these will work for me,” I sighed.
“Here, just try this one,” she said, handing me one of the lacy imposters.
I went into the dressing room and put it on. While it was not as low cut as it looked on the hanger, it had another glaring problem. It sat much higher on my chest than its intended occupants. Clearly it was made for someone much younger than me who still used the word “perky” to describe her assets and didn’t need to scoop them up with a crane to get them into the bra.
Disappointed and dejected, I went home to see if I could find the bra online, but the only ones I could find were for hundreds of dollars in the Netherlands.
Suddenly It occurred to me: my bra had become a collector’s item. My spirits soared as I realized my bra problem was still an issue, but because of it, a new opportunity had just presented itself.
“Hey honey,” I yelled to my husband gleefully. “I just found out if I sell my bras online in the Netherlands I can make hundreds of dollars!”
“Great!” he replied. “See what you can get for my underwear.”
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