over shoulder boulder holders

I got fitted for a new bra today.  In my youth, I  was - oh heck - who besides me gives a rip how lovely I was 30 years ago?  Let's just say that fat and gravity have had their wicked way with me and I need a lot more structure now.  And, as most women realize, going into a department store lingerie department and trying to find brassieres that might actually be what you think might possibly be the correct size is an exercise in frustration and futility.  A 36D is not the same shape and size in any two styles.  One flaps loosely around the ribcage and the next inhibits breathing.  Another has cups that would hold you and two BigMacs, the next leaves you overflowing top, bottom and both sides.  You want to get it to fit close enough to the ribs to stay in place, while not squeezing up those armpit rolls and back boobs. You want the cups large enough so that the front of the bra doesn't become a tiny trampoline, stretched across the chasm, but not so big that they wrinkle. So I bit the bullet and went to a fitter.  At least she knew her stock and I didn't have to re-dress every time I needed to find something else to try.  Instead I stood half nekkid in the chilly dressing room and tried not to study the ruins of my body in the mirror, while she bustled around her shop, finding possibilities and fielding questions from her junior staff.

One thingI have had to resign myself to - the bigger the bras, the less likely they are to be pretty.  White, nude or black, with minimal decoration.  If I was still a frisky little b-cup I could go with patterns and pretty colors and matching little panties.  I could look for lace and embellishments and whimsical trimmings.  The less you actually need a bra, the more you have to choose from.  The more you need to raise the fallen, uplift the masses, and support the weary, the fewer options you have.

It ain't cheap, either!  I wound up with two comfortable bras and spent over $100.  This is clearly a wash -one-and-wear-the-other situation from now on in.  But I stand a bit straighter, and my shoulders will no longer have those gouges pressed into the flesh. What do truly buxom women do? Going commando throws my balance off as it is.  How do the braless Walmartians manage?  They sure don't make any sudden turns, I can tell you.