The Lingerie Twist

  It's a dark, gray day. The only thing worth doing on a miserable morning like this is to snuggle down and go back to sleep. I think I hear thunder. I hate driving in the rain. Why do people act like such idiots when it rains? I-want-to-stay-home. Anyone else looking outside would see that it's sunny with a slight breeze, really a perfect day for just about any activity. Except shopping for a new bra. Yesterday I faced the music. I could not go one more day without finding a new bra and that has totally colored my whole outlook on... everything. I know that manufacturers of many items frequently change styles in an attempt to make the customer buy new. New in its alternate meaning of more. But if they knew how many of us absolutely hate going through the torturous gymnastics of trying on an endless series of bras in a tacky, overheated dressing room­,­ desperately searching for even one style that fits reasonably well, they might not be so cavalier with those design changes. Personally, I would replace mine much more frequently if I could find the style that I finally settled on the last time I went through this nightmare. But no, as soon as I've settled on something that is somewhat comfortable and buy every single one available in my own and neighboring counties, it instantly vanishes off the face of the earth. The fact that I wear them all to shreds doesn't help. At some point I have to start from scratch. And could someone please explain to me why one manufacturer can't make all of the bras in one size all be the same size? I recently ran through a store and bought two different styles in my usual brand, in the size I'm currently wearing. No time for the dressing room watusi. Neither one came even close to fitting. It's not a small difference either. One was too big--even using the last set of hooks I was free-floating, and the other was decidedly small, as in I had a choice of wearing it or breathing. So, I fight an almost overwhelming urge to do my Scarlett O'Hara imitation and "think about it tomorrow." Years of practice have made me extremely good at it. But I dress in dark, muddy colors to match my mood and drag myself out to the car. And as for all of you easy-to-fit ladies (there must be 3 or 4 of you), who have no idea what I'm talking about, I'd just like to say . . . "I hate you."