I have been a 34-C for about 5 years now. Oddly, but as I’m sure you will all – as women of a certain age – understand, I had come to really identify as such. I was a 34-C. I was of slightly-larger-than-average-but-nothing-unusual proportions. At 5’0″ (in shoes), I figured 34-C was more than adequate for my small frame.Cut to a few months ago when I start noticing that my bras don’t fit. The band is fine, but my breasts are literally spilling out of the cups. What gives?

I thought, well, my bras are all over a year old. Maybe they’re just…shrinking? Do bras do that? So I got myself to the store and lo and behold, none of the 34-Cs fit. Finally, I picked up a 34-D. Ha ha, I laughed. There is no way that 34-C me is suddenly a freaking D-cup. No way in hell.

And yet–I was. The 34-D fit perfectly.

I was hit with a weird and unexpected mini-identity crisis. I was…a 34-D? But I’m a 34-C! Or…I was. I called my boyfriend to complain, but as soon as I said the words 34-D, he cheered. I mean, he literally cheered. And then I hung up. Read More »