It is time to replace them and so, on Wednesday, I used my lunch break to brave the lingerie sections of David Jones and Myer.
Oh the misery.
I know what I want – something simple, not padded (it’s summer for Pete’s sake!), in a tone that vaguely matches my skin. Oh and something that fits and is comfortable. When I remarked to the friendly but fairly useless assistant in David Jones that there didn’t seem to be much in my size, she replied chirpily, “Oh yes the A & B cups go really quickly.”
So… what, because I have smaller-than-average breasts, buying a bra must be a competition between me and everyone else who measures 12A? What is this, some kind of underwear-based reality TV show?
I have also noticed that my desire not to wear an inch of gel-filled wadding over my breasts in summer seems to mark me out as some kind of nutter in the wonderful world of brassieres. The assistants peer at me cautiously, as though I am making a demand that is both unreasonable and alarming. They then look at my less-than-impressive bust and become confused. I imagine their internal monologue goes something like this:
Why would she not be willing to have sweaty boobs in order to make them look bigger? Weirdo.
I did manage to find one bra that I liked on my lunchtime foray. The only criteria it didn’t meet was, “in a tone that vaguely matches my skin”. It’s dark grey. Oh well, I guess you could say it’s a neutral. It’s Calvin Klein so a bit exxy, but there was a sale and hell, I was desperate. I would have bought two of them, as is my rule when I find a good bra, but, surprise, surprise it was the last one in stock.
I was excited about getting one new bra but still keen to get one or two more and definitely one in skin-colour. So I decided to try an independent lingerie shop. Imagine my horror when, whilst putting my lovely new CK bra back on (after discarding seven skin-coloured disasters) I spied in the change room rear-view mirror a hole in the gunmetal grey fabric through which tell-tale skin peeked.
Noooooooo!
Of course, big department stores are easy about returns, but I already knew that my bra was the last one in my size. A quick phone call confirmed that there were no more bras of this style in any of the stores ANYWHERE IN AUSTRALIA.
But, of course.
When I looked online, however, there was one 12A in stock. Another phone call to DJs to see if they can get this one sent to the Perth branch. Apparently they absolutely can’t, there is no connection between the DJs stores and the DJs online shop, how could I even think that this was possible.
Another highly courteous but ultimately unhelpful staff member suggested that I buy the bra online and bring the other one back for a cash refund. Which is fine in theory, except that I didn’t pay full price for the first one AND I was going to be stung for $10 postage… so it was going to cost me an extra $27.25 to get my bra replaced.
I rang DJs back (again!) and got a man who was sympathetic but assured me there was nothing they could do and the best they could offer was a refund.
I tried to explain that a woman who has found a bra that she likes does not want a refund. She wants her bra. He did not understand, so I tried another tack, suggesting that the store could give me a voucher for the $27.25. He replied that the store manager would have to authorise that. Fine then, I snapped, please put me through to the store manager.
Happily, the store manager was sympathetic and agreed that I should be recompensed.
This is good but I am still peeved because I just want a nice bra. I don’t want to have to go back to David Jones. I don't want to stand there while they ring the store manager to confirm my story. I don’t want to have to wait 10 days for my replacement bra. I don’t want to have to line up in the queue at Australia Post because the parcel doesn’t fit in my post box. Why does it all have to be so HARD?
First world problems, I grant you, but really, bra shopping is all bad and wrong.