Today was a bleak day in shopping-land. I spent nearly four hours in several different stores looking for arbs. If you read that backward, you'll understand my despair. And if you're a guy, stop reading and go visit somebody else's blog for today. I hate arb shopping more than any other kind, including bathing suit shopping with teenage daughters. My skin actually gets rubbed raw from trying on all the lacy-scratchy-picky ones and the whole thing becomes a blur, like when you're house-hunting. There's something wrong with every one you look at.
Band too tight - I need to breathe.
Wire too stiff - I need to move.
Lace too scratchy - I don't want to bleed.
Too much padding - It's not a mattress, for cryin' out loud.
At one store there was a screaming baby party in the fitting room and I just couldn't contemplate supportive-yet-pretty.
And so I wound up at my old faithful, Victoria's Secret thinking "I can take a loan if I have to. Or get a second mortgage. Or sell one of the cars." Really. $50 for one?? And of course, since it's been two years since my last arb-shopping expedition (can you imagine???), they don't have the style I love anymore. They're all new and improved. Except that I'm old and, um, well, we won't go there. I'm really not insecure about my body image, I just prefer to keep it covered up.
Then I had the brilliant idea to come home and check the online store to see if they still had my old style.
Nada. Pity me.
So I'm back to square one. Still in need, but without hope. I really need some uplifting words of wisdom. Ahem.