Today was the occasion of a landmark event, well a minor one anyway. I went for a bra fitting, my very first.
This was at the Brighton branch of M&S. I just went up to one of the staff in the lingerie department, who took me over to the ladies at the fitting rooms, and one of them looked after me. I thought it would involve tape measures, but the method she used was to try me in something likely first, see how it fitted, and then fine-tune. Three bras later it was clear that I might be a 40A, but despite appearances still too small to fill even an A cup adequately. It was no good wearing something just for the sake of it. The lady suggested that I come back later in the year.
I'm not sure how I feel about this. I'd pushed myself a bit into asking about a fitting, and it was disappointing not to come away fixed up. A waste of adrenalin. And I still can't wear see-through tops.
On the other hand, once in a bra, and used to it, I'd feel unable to walk around without one on, and where would that leave me for the November cruise, when I'm supposed to be in 'male' garb as originally promised to Dad? I can just imagine the awkwardness of arriving at the pre-embarkation lounge at Southampton as Mr J--- D--- (I'm booked in under my old name) but jutting out somewhat in the chest department. Whereas my uncontained bumps might get by. Not that I care greatly nowadays about looking odd. But M--- is coming with me instead of Dad, and I don't want to embarrass her unnecessarily.
Ah well, nature will have to take her course.