This entry begins back in September, on a crisp fall evening amongst the winding paths and whistling trees of Prospect Park, Brooklyn. My (very talented writer) friend Liz has just finished traipsing down the aisle to join in wedded bliss with her husband, J. I am giving Liz a heartfelt hug of congratulations. The scene is classy, tasteful, and joyous. So, of course, one of the first things out of my mouth is suitable to the atmosphere indeed.
Real Girl: Liz, your boobs look AMAZING!
Liz: I know, right!? It’s all the bra. Go to Victoria’s Secret. It’s the one with the gel.
Real Girl: (Face falls.) I can’t wear Victoria’s Secret bras, dagnabit. They’re just not made for little gals like me.
Liz: No, trust me. The gel one. Get the gel one.
Real Girl: (Feeling a tiny well of hope inside) Okay. I’ll try. You can go, um, finish your wedding now if you want.
And with that, I said ta-ta to Liz and her ta-tas. But I never forgot the gel. I will never forget the gel. Because for the first time in my life, I now have cleavage. Sexy, shapely, come hither cleavage that shocks me every time I see it. Real Girlettes, I owe my new fabulous rack not to any scalpel-crazy surgeon, but rather to the miraculous and worship-worthy Victoria’s Secret Very Sexy Convertible Push-Up Bra. And talking about my new very sexy boobies? Is a thrill indeed.
But first let’s return to the old days. When my young pups were humble, as Shakira might say, rather than mountainous. I don’t mean to go all Oprah on you, but indeed I was an A in a B cup. At some point in my life, I was a B, especially in Calvin Klein. Did mainstream lingerie lines start making their bras bigger, as the clothing lines did? I just don’t know. But Victoria’s Secret bras used to hang off of me like the cloth was scared of my bosom. Them bras wouldn’t hug my chest if it were the last mammary provider in town.
So, when I entered the Victoria’s Secret store near my apartment (across the street from one of my TWO local Sephoras), it was with some trepidation. And when I saw the sleek-haired, black-clad saleswoman, my face might have maybe scrunched up, and my voice gone high. “Um…can I see the bra with the gel in it? And…um…could you maybe measure me?”
It was then that I was offered my delicious little A-cup option. The above-linked Very Sexy Convertible Push-Up. I will confess that the bells and whistles piqued my interest. 1) You can remove the gel inserts (though I’ve only done that for washing). 2) You can switch the colored straps with clear straps. 3) You can remove the straps altogether. 4) You can wear it with halter-tops. 5) No, really. Even low-back halter tops. 6) Just look at the booklet! It’s all in the handy, pictureific booklet.
I was told by the saleswoman that the regular old Very Sexy Push Up Bra doesn’t have the same gel base, although perhaps some readers have tried it? But for real? The gel one is a miracle worker. I love the gel. It comes in two little packets that nestle in the bottom of your bra, lifting your pups up like they’ve got helium in them. This is, indeed, my first successful push-up bra ever. Before, push-up bras always made my boobs look too high, as if they hadn’t developed in the right place. And yet still, the cleavage was lacking. But the Convertible Very Sexy is the master push-up. It enhances your natural shape and size rather than fiddling to heave your chest up to high heaven.
There are, however, some draw-backs, as—alas—there always are. When converting the bra to its strapless version, the bra kind of leans forward. I’ve successfully worn it strapless, but only when the top or dress is tight enough to pull the bra in toward my chest. Also, very rarely the straps come undone under my shirt. This has only happened once, but it kind of sucks that the booklet doesn’t go into detail about how to hook the straps on most securely. You’ve got to slip the wide slit on the strap-hook under the fabric loop and then nestle the loop itself between the two halves of the lower part of the hook. Oh hell, let me just show you.
I debated whether I should shove a pic of my new, luxuriant cleavage in your faces, but in the end (especially after bearing my teeth for all to see in the Great Whitening Experiment of 2005) I decided against it. The bra’s been perfectly comfortable, in my opinion, fitting nicely without pinching. The best part? I have to remember now that when I bend over I might want to tug my shirt up a bit. Shhh, don’t tell, but the other day at work? I totally caught some guy checking me out as I was bending over a file cabinet. His eyes were NOT focused on my face, let me tell you. Ah, this new power. Real Girl promises to use it wisely.
But what about you all? Have you got a miracle bra you’d like to share with us? Any words from the bigger boobied gals that I’ve envied all my life? Trust Liz. Trust me. The gel bra just friggin’ rocks.
With love from your,
Chesty LaRue
aka
Real Girl
xx
No comments:
Post a Comment