B cups, C cups and acorn cups

I chat to my Brit pal because we speak the same language, which means that we can talk about things that Americans can’t talk about, or so I think.

My pal and I are therefore alike in every way.

“So you think you understand it all then?”
“Yes. It’s all really very simple.”
“Maybe for you, but not for me.”
“Don’t be pathetic. You’ve been here 12 years now, you can’t go on using the same old excuses.”
“Alright then.”
“So what, specifically, is the problem with sizes that your feeble brain can’t fathom?”
“Bra sizes.”
“Right. So what size bra are you wearing at the moment?”
I fold my arms. “I’m not.”
“Not what?”
“Not wearing one.” She looks at my closely locked arms.
“That bad. O.k. what size would you normally wear?”
“Well I recently discovered these half sized ones by accident.”
“By accident?”
“I knocked over the display.”
“Maddy!”
“It wasn’t my fault. I was chasing him through the lingerie, er…… ladies intimate apparel and I had to rugby tackle him before he escaped into shoes.”
“Why didn’t you leave the kids at home?”
“I left two of them with him at home, but it wasn’t fair to leave him with all three at once.”
“Oh shut up and get on with it. I haven’t got all day you know.”
“Right.”
“So?”
“Where were we?”
“Half sizes or some other rot.”
“Ah yes. Well if you’re a 36B…”
“You’re not.”
“I know. I’m just explaining. If, for example, you were nearly 36 B then there is this new bra size that literally is 36 nearly B.”
“Fair enough. So what are you saying?”
“So I bought one.”
“One what?”
“I bought a 32 nearly A.”
“You’re kidding me right?”
“No. That’s what I bought but of course it doesn’t fit.”
“Did you bring it with you?”
“Yes. It’s here in the bag.” I pat the bag discretely but not intimately. She snatches it from the bench and dives in. She man handles it with venom. “Well that’s just ludicrous!”
“I agree.”
“It’s not possible to get a bra smaller than this. What would be the point in having a bra any smaller than this anyway?”
“I know. But the point is, that it doesn’t fit.”
She pouts, looks at the bra and then uses her x-ray vision to look at me through my folded arms.
“O.k,” she sighs, “tell me, in simple terms, in what way it doesn’t fit.”
“I can’t breath. It’s like wearing a corset.”
“When did you last wear a corset?”
“1971.”
“Shut up!”
“It’s true. It’s sort of true. It was really a spinal brace but it felt like a corset with all the straps and buckles.”
“Shut up!”
“Sorry.”
“Have you measured yourself?”
“Of course I’ve measured myself, just like you told me.”
“So?”
“36.”
“Never!”
“True!”
“Rubbish!”
“I have a very large rib cage and a massive back.”
“Then what are you doing with a bra that only measures 32 inches you fool!”
“Because they’re the only ones that have small enough cups, which afterall really is the purpose of a bra.”
“So what you’re saying, is that you need a bra that is 36 nearly A?”
“Yes. I have to do something. I can’t go on like this. I have a serious case of EE.”
“Pardon?”
“EE.”
“What have E’s got to do with anything. We’ve already established that anything other than A won’t do.”
“Oh no, you misunderstand me.”
“Indeed I most certainly do.”
“Sorry.”
“Well?”
“Oh yes, right. EE stands for ‘empty ends.’ It can be very disconcerting when a bra cup goes all concave on you when you’re out in public. Virtually impossible to pop them back out again discretely.” Her face is a study. I grin.
“Well there are lots of ways of solving that one.”
“I know. I’ve tried a pair of rolled up socks on each side.”
“Both sides?”
“Yes, but they always escape during the day and end up traveling around my T-shirt to end up in unexpected spots.”
“Hunchback of Notre Dame?”
“Got it.”
“What about fillets? They’re supposed to stay in place.”
“Icky!”
“Don’t be such a baby! What about those inflatable ones?”
“They cost a fortune.”
“What about the one’s that have the fillets already in them?”
“I bought one of those.”
“And?”
“Ghastly. They weigh a tonne. They make you round shouldered.”
“You’re impossible! I should have taped that Oprah programme for you.”
“I did find one a few years ago in England that was 36AAA but they don’t sell them out here.”
“Silicon. Er……well, can’t you get your mum to send you one?”
“Maybe?”
“Well you’ll have to do something. You can’t go around braless at your age. Maybe you should have had a boob job instead of getting your teeth fixed?”
“That would never do. I did try band aides but they showed through.”
“Band aides!”
“Then I tried duct tape but it hurt and I was always worried that they’d set off metal detectors which might prove a little embarrassing.”
“Duct tape isn’t made of metal.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure you idiot. It’s just the colour.”
“It twinkles through t-shirts.”
“I’ll give you twinkle…..I think you’re a prime candidate for ‘Extreme Makeover.’”
“It almost makes you wistful for the simple days of ‘lift and separate.’”
“Before my time dearie.”
“No need to rub it in.”
“I can never work out if you’re the worst friend or the best enemy? Why is it that you always make my head hurt?”

Clearly I do not translate into any language.

B cups, C cups and acorn cups

http://alien-in-a-foreign-field.blogspot.com/2007/10/b-cups-c-cups-and-acorn-cups.html