The one where I get my tits out
The thing with shopping is that, unless you have ninety-squillion pounds to spend on shoes and sparkly things, it's a pretty soulless experience.
Especially if you go to your local Designer Village. Designer Villages are rubbish. Well, the only one I've ever been to is, and I have never let fact get in the way of a good old-fashioned moan. It is made entirely of concrete and smells of fake tan and despair. It is full of shops that sell things you would never need, such as giant Samsonite suitcases and chandeliers. We only went there to visit the Vans shop, and when we got there it had closed down. Sweet.
I did get Small Person some DC trainers for a fiver though. And a magic lady in the Gossard shop both impressed and unnerved me, all at the same time.
The last time I was measured for a bra was in Marks and Spencer's. I was seven months pregnant at the time, and the lady was rubbish at it. She tried telling me that my cup size was smaller than it had been when I wasn't pregnant. It wasn't, and measuring and I parted company. I reasoned that just sort of trying stuff on could be presumed to be just as accurate, given that an actual tape measure seemed to not really be any valid indication of what size I should be buying.
Anyway.
Since I have lost loads of weight it has become apparent that I might need some new *coughs* foundation garments. So we went into the Gossard shop. Do you do measuring, I asked. No, said the girl-who-looked-about-fifteen, we do fitting. Right-oh, said I. How does that work, exactly? Three minutes later I was standing in a fitting room, stripped to my bra. The girl-who-looked-about-fifteen gave me an appraising stare, nodded briskly and disappeared. She came back seconds later, handed me a bra and told me to try it on. It fitted. Perfectly. Then she came back with another one, in a different style, to make sure I really was that size. I was.
I find that slightly worrying. How does that translate to a person's CV, I wonder? What's the training like? And, more importantly, how the bloody hell did she do that?? I don't get it. She was absolutely bang-on, first time.
And so I left the Designer Village with some new underwear and a certain sense of self-satisfaction. I mean. 34DD. It's quite impressive really, isn't it?
Ahem.
Especially if you go to your local Designer Village. Designer Villages are rubbish. Well, the only one I've ever been to is, and I have never let fact get in the way of a good old-fashioned moan. It is made entirely of concrete and smells of fake tan and despair. It is full of shops that sell things you would never need, such as giant Samsonite suitcases and chandeliers. We only went there to visit the Vans shop, and when we got there it had closed down. Sweet.
I did get Small Person some DC trainers for a fiver though. And a magic lady in the Gossard shop both impressed and unnerved me, all at the same time.
The last time I was measured for a bra was in Marks and Spencer's. I was seven months pregnant at the time, and the lady was rubbish at it. She tried telling me that my cup size was smaller than it had been when I wasn't pregnant. It wasn't, and measuring and I parted company. I reasoned that just sort of trying stuff on could be presumed to be just as accurate, given that an actual tape measure seemed to not really be any valid indication of what size I should be buying.
Anyway.
Since I have lost loads of weight it has become apparent that I might need some new *coughs* foundation garments. So we went into the Gossard shop. Do you do measuring, I asked. No, said the girl-who-looked-about-fifteen, we do fitting. Right-oh, said I. How does that work, exactly? Three minutes later I was standing in a fitting room, stripped to my bra. The girl-who-looked-about-fifteen gave me an appraising stare, nodded briskly and disappeared. She came back seconds later, handed me a bra and told me to try it on. It fitted. Perfectly. Then she came back with another one, in a different style, to make sure I really was that size. I was.
I find that slightly worrying. How does that translate to a person's CV, I wonder? What's the training like? And, more importantly, how the bloody hell did she do that?? I don't get it. She was absolutely bang-on, first time.
And so I left the Designer Village with some new underwear and a certain sense of self-satisfaction. I mean. 34DD. It's quite impressive really, isn't it?
Ahem.
posted by surly girl at 5:07 pm
14 Comments:
34DD? Fantastic! I might nip up there tomorrow to witness this miracle for myself, (to the amazing lady in the shop that is), not to yours to look at your tits.
I can tell by looking at bras if they're my size (not quite as impressive as yours though), but not at actual bosoms.
First thing on a monday morning Surly - and I'm reading about your tits. What you trying to do to me!
I stood there and applauded...both at the shop girls talent for guessing size and at SG's magnificent melons !!!
Sorry if that's inappropriate hon, delete as necessary.
There's a few people that would fancy that job. 34DD that's very impressive, mine look like a couple of old socks attached to my chest.
dear jesus, we NEED that girls' skillz over here.
Wow, them's some bodacious tatas! I've got 38 DDs, but they should really be called 38 Longs...
If selfsame saleslady tried to sell bras to some of today's fashion models she'd need one with dents in :-(
Soon you'll be able to leave the fluffing behind and become a proper porn star...
Designer Villages are full of places selling cut-price, cut-glass. Handy if you're running a bit low on tasteless tacky picture-frames (and have a spare fifty quid to burn).
Crap if you just want cheap Cadbury's Creme Eggs and the latest Black Eyed Peas album for a fiver.
I don't know. You might be able to word that quite well on a CV. Like, Skill set: visual appraisal of appendages of war/accurate to-scale measurements of WMDs.
Clearly, this girl needs an apprentice so her skill can be passed on for future generations. I am working on my application now.
*cries into her a cup*
Dear God in Heaven, what cup size must you have been when you were pregnant? (An old college friend of my wife's was uprated to an X-cup when the hormones hit.)
But yes, some skill set, and now I realise I picked the wrong career.
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