I know a girl who is not quite in middle school yet. A few months ago she looked the part of an elementary school student. I saw her recently and WOWZA! Let’s just say that she is blossoming.
When I made it to 6th grade I found out that popping bra straps was the cool thing to do. I never worried though, because I didn’t wear one. They weren’t gonna get me. Ha! Then one day Mary reached between my shoulder blades and tugged at my shirt. “GASP! Laaaaaaaaauuuuuureeeen, you’re not wearing a bra?” Um. No. Why would I?
I am not sure if it was solely this incident or maybe a combination of this and my mom saying to me in the front yard “They’re groooooowiiiiiing” that spurred the shopping trip. Regardless of actually need, it was time. If memory serves we started at a department store for a professional fitting. The lingerie lady came out from behind her register and started (wo)man handling me right there out in the open with the finesse of a TSA agent. After she took the measurements mom and I headed to the dressing room with a couple of options. The most memorable bra made it look like I had a pair of ski jumping slopes on my chest. A downhill grade followed by a slight curve back up.
We laughed. We laughed hard.
Things didn’t pan out so well at the department store so we headed to a ‘Mart. Less intense, maybe. Here I am; 11 years old, with my mom, standing in front of the training bra/ undershirt rack about to meet a major milestone of a girl’s life. We’ve got it narrowed down, and about to seal the deal emotionally unscathed when a lady exclaims “Don’t you hate it when your 4 yr old insists on wearing a bra?!” I kid you not, we were the same non-cup size. And that is when I cried.