In my entire life have I never gone to the mall a week before Xmas. I mean, I won't go to the mall at the best of times, never mind after November 15. And yet, I spent the day there today. From 10 till 3, you know, the witching hours. (At least I assume them to be.)
I ate hideous food and stood on a 20 minute line at Starbucks. I got smacked into by young children and clueless men shopping with young children and was up-sold about 30 times. I did not capitulate. I actively handled the tried'n'true Kristin-anxiety triple threat: crowds, bright lights and noise. (Did I mention that I'm dealing with some ridiculous and recently-arrived, symmetrical sacral pain for the past few days - one of those kinds of pain I NEVER get.)
Really, I kicked ass - though maybe not according to my child, the reason I found myself at the mall 4 days before Christmas. You see, she wanted to go shopping for fun things she "needs". Note to reader: She needs NOTHING. In fact, her room is a tornado of all of the kinds of fast fashion she somehow manages to procure on an ill-deserved allowance. She won't even put anything away so it all lives in piles on the floor. Ditching the old and worn for the new and improved is not a thing that the little hoarder can get with.
I played hard and negotiated a deal: One thing in for one thing out. And then she somehow convinced me to buy her all the things at Sephora and half of the things at Top Shop. She even coerced me into some technical cashmere at a Kit and Ace pop-up shop. (Since when does the mall do pop-up shops??) I'll admit it. I caved. In addition to her loot, I bought myself a top (and I know I always say this, but it looks better on me than on the model in the link. Does every model need to be entirely without profile?). Moreover, what is the world coming to when you buy a glorified T shirt for a hundred bucks? For a teenager.
While we're on the topic, I've already bought her numerous LOVELY gifts that I know she'll enjoy. Those were the things I got while surfing on the couch.
But here's where it all went to hell...
We went bra shopping.
OK, we didn't so much go bra shopping as we went to La Senza (a store I'd eradicate from the face of the earth if I had superhuman powers for 5 minutes). And then we went to Victoria's Secret - a shop with some pretty sexy things (in the pricey section) if you happen to fit the the matrix sizing - which 5 people do. (Note: none of those things is padded or push up.)
I have to preface this by advising you that my child has the most gorgeous bust ever. I know it doesn't matter and that one's heart is the thing that counts and I'm not supposed to notice or care. But really, she won the lottery. Her boobs are self-supporting, perfectly symmetrical, truly high-set. She can wear a 32DD (sort of findable) though her size is more of a 30E (actually, it's 28F but she can't stand the tightness of the band as she has no fat to speak of). I would happily buy her all of the gorgeous things online, without question - just for the vicarious thrill!, but she refuses to comply.
Instead, she goes to the SHITTIEST stores and buys 34D bras with massive amounts of padding and it's a fucking crime. If I had those boobs I would be lavishing them in well-fitted gorgeousness.
Yeah, I know. They're not my boobs and I'd never heap this vitriol on a friend. Furthermore, who better to wear the wrong size bra than the person who doesn't really need one for either support or shaping.
And still, I felt utterly demoralized.
Don't you think that the one thing I should have passed along to my child is the gift of fit discrimination? The other day, I played a little trick on her. We were talking about something irrelevant and, all of a sudden, I quizzed her to name a sister size to 34F. By the way, SHE GOT IT RIGHT in 2 seconds! So I know she's not ignoring everything. But why does she hurt me so?
At any rate, I capitulated to one La Senza atrocity. Then I made her go to the Bay with me and we fought about every bra there. Every. single. fucking. last. one. I bribed her into trying on a few that I could get with (barely) by agreeing to get her a stupid bralet that's basically dental floss and lace. (In truth, she can pull it off so it didn't torment me as much as I'd led her to believe.) Every other bra I brought her to try (and I made sure to go with the B. tempted and all of that youth-market shit) looked fantastic on her. And yet she would only accede to this one (which is very cute on her - not mature at all):
|Wacoal Embrace Lace Soft Cup Bra|
First world problems. Huh?