Me: I need to get fitted for a nursing bra, please.
Nursing bra fitter: Sure! Ok… let’s see here (pulls out tape measure)… you’re a 36… E.
Nick: Kerplunk (faints on floor)
Lila: Scccchuuulp (licks lips)
Nursing bra fitter: You’re a 36 E.
Me: Dear lord. Can’t we just call it a 36 Triple C?
Nursing bra fitter: Uh, no.
Me: Give me the bra.
That’s right. I am now joining the ranks of a stripper struggling with body dysmorphic disorder on her 5th boob job because she has no concept of what a functional human body looks like.
I’m just biding my time until I end up on the People of Wal-Mart website as I’m buying a gallon of milk. “oh the irony!” the caption will say.
The one positive is that I’ve suddenly become the most popular person in our house and I’m using that to my full advantage.
These things are manipulative.