Sexy lingerie is a thing of the past.

Recently I had an impulse to go into Victoria’s Secret. I’d never been inside one of their stores, and I’m almost 70. I’m pretty straight-laced. But a friend told me that they actually measure you and find your perfect bra size. It suddenly sounded lovely to one used to self-serve shelves full of bras in boxes.  Like a largish fish out of water in the midst of all that sexy naughtiness, I stood while the bra specialist measured my band size, at 42 inches.

Alas, the specialist told me the largest Victoria’s carries is 38 inches. I was disqualified from Victoria’s Secret! Disgraced! Humiliated! Once slender and firm, as I age I’m expanding in girth, including my back and shoulders. If I choose my right cup size, the band size is too tight. I can’t breathe, and get cloth cuts and rashes under my breasts. After being rejected I cheered myself up at the Starbucks right next store, with a white chocolate mint half-milk and half half-and-half latte and a caramel cake pop. “Now what,” I brooded, the caramel frosting melting sexily in my mouth. When I was done I went to the lingerie department at Sears, where I told a saleswoman my story. She asked if I had a bra extender and I said “a what?” I’d never heard of them. It’s a rectangular piece of cloth with hooks and eyes that attaches to your bra and makes the band longer.

I tried one…and everything’s going to be okay. So what if I never wear a Victoria’s Secret bra. I found something better, a bra extender. No more rashes! I can breathe! Life goes on, with more oxygen.


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