(Pictures of me in my underwear would be weird so please enjoy these pictures of cutie dogs instead.)

I had a dream last night that I went to Victoria’s Secret to have them measure my bra size.  They took the two measurements and were in shock that I was even alive.  Apparently I was all out of wack and my portions were impossible, hence my inability to find a well-fitting bra.  I was horrified.

I think there were two things causing this nightmare.  One – I really do need a new bra or two.  Two – I really need some new underwear.  That night as I was brushing my teeth I grabbed a pair of nighttime undies.  How are nighttime undies different from daytime undies?  Well I’m glad you ask.  During the daytime I wear a classy thong so I don’t show any unsightly panty lines.  At night I can’t imagine sleeping well with a piece of fabric up my butt so I change to a more full fitting underwear.  A gynecologist will tell you to sleep with no undies on at all but I just can’t do it.  I need a barrier between my nether regions and the bed sheets especially if there may be one or more dogs joining me in the bed … UNDERWEAR NEEDED!

The minute I put last nights pair on I realized I knew them well.  These have a HUGE hole in the side.  HUGE.  Crazy big.  I mean to throw them away each time I find them but then I wear them, throw them in the laundry, and they get put back in rotation.  For a second I thought about taking them off and throwing them away right then, but they were already on so …. I just got into bed.  Don’t judge me.  I had a long weekend and just wanted to crawl into bed ASAP.

My problem is I don’t like shopping for underwear.  I don’t care.  I need an underwear club” where I give them my credit card and they just send me a new set every three months or so.  I’ve stormed out of Victoria’s Secret more than once.  Either because I hated one of the “helpers” or it was too annoying to find my size, or in the dressing room I wanted to cry, or I saw a price tag that made me furious.  It’s traumatizing.

Shopping for underwear falls under all the other girly things I can’t take the time to care about.  Like getting my nails done.  Sooooooooooo boring.  While shopping for clothes I’ve thrown fits in dressing rooms screaming, “Why would this stores buyer purchase such hideous clothing??!!!???”  The only reason I get my hair professionally cut and colored is because my hair lady is my friend and is a hoot to talk to.  I’m about as tom boyish as you can get without actually being a tom boy.  I’m not saying I don’t like to be fancy and girly.  I do!  If it was socially acceptable I’d live in a corset and carry around a fan for dramatic effect all day long.

Since I’m not going to Victoria’s Secret to live out my nightmare I looked up how to measure my bra size online.  Please note I’m right now wearing a 36 C.  I figured my measurements would say I needed a D cup and that would make sense.  I’m okay with that.  Nope.  According to the internet and my tape measure I’m a 34 F.  HA HA HA HA … Bullshit.  I know I have large boobs but F … That’s bigger than a DDD.  I feel like if I got an F cup I could store a couple of the small dogs I babysit in each one for safe keeping while we are on a walk.  F.  HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.

Screw it.  I’m going to put my sports bra on and call it a day.