I was definitely premature.
Whenever it was: four months back? Six? And so soon after starting hormones: I was expecting instant miracles and looking for measurable boobs. And I tried: of course I did.
But all to no avail. If I registered at all back then, it was as a faintly over-optimistic 42AA – a size so outlandish that almost no bra company in the land creates such a garment. I bought an experimental bra – ad it was a waste of time and money.
Today, though, I returned to the fray (OK: tempted, in part, by an M&S money-off voucher for having a fitting). I emerged with a size. A real size!
Yep. This girl is proud possessor of a pair of 42B boobs. Not that that helped exactly. First off was the interrogation: so did I want full or half? Wired or non-wired? Padded?
Huh? Like, I thought the whole point of my coming for a fitting was that the fitter would advise me – which, once she realised I really hadn’t the foggiest, she did.
There then followed loads of trying on, and the discovery that half a dozen garments all coming in boxes with the same outer label as far as size goes, appear to have been created for half a dozen different sizes and shapes of boobs.
So for a moment I thought that was that: yes, I had a size…but no: no-one actually made anything to fit my unique dimension. Wait, though: a single lacy black creation (not underwired, in case you’re wondering) did the trick. It fits: I fill it; and worn under a tunic or shirt I look…hmmmm…pretty neat.
I am definitely smiling.
It’s a small step now, by comparison with other stuff. But its another step all the same: another box ticked; and you cannot imagine (or maybe you can) how feminine it makes me feel. My first real bra…