So, how'd your bra-fitting go, M'am?

A disaster, that's how it was for me.

I'm curious, really. Did anyone EVER have an enjoyable bra-fitting session before?

I mean, look, I ain't particularly chirpy about my shrinking breasts and I definitely don't need feeling worse when a grim old lady came in, grabbed my strap and shook her head, "No, no.. You need a smaller one. Much smaller.. try 10A or B.. I think A, try A.." If it ain't for the fact that she's an elderly and I'm practically semi-naked in her turf, I'd have get-the-fuck-out-of-here her!

Instead, I solemnly smiled and closed the door after her. Then I spent the next 5, 10 or probably 20 minutes trying to make it all presentable in a B-cup, having total faith in my own set of hooters. "How could I be demoted to a mere A-cup in less than a month?" I sincerely believed. So I pushed, and shoved, grabbed and.. yea, you know the drill..

Alas, I walked out of the store clutching my purchase of Elle Macpherson in A reluctantly, leaving behind in the changing room, a mangled (and maybe torn, just maybe..) B size.

Anyway.. like all curious flat-chests, I wonder whatever happened to good ol' assistants?? Miranda, in Sex and the City, got the perfect help she needed without even her asking. Are you telling me that it's the whole "show" thing again? That it doesn't really work that way in real?? I feel so cheated!

Oh and by the way, did I mention that I had to "press the button when you're ready for the fitting"? Button?? What button?? Ready for the fitting?? What do you mean?? Do I have to stand there naked and get you to do it or wear one myself and.. why do I need you there again??

It was all so confusing that I swore never to have any bra-fitting again. Perhaps, maybe if I get the tough-looking, but knowledgable assistant that Miranda had..

I think every girl needs a little companion who can spare some compassion in this regard. Double hands up from me.