The Victoria's Secret Experience

I am amazed at how I am floating through my existence and shifting from one reality to another. I am more amazed at the moments when the realities collide. The perfect example is shopping for lover lingerie with my two daughters.

I got a coupon from Victoria's Secret for free panties and $10 off a bra. I don't know when it happened, but I have somehow become uncomfortable in almost every bra I own.

So after dinner with the family last week, I ask if I can run into the store and cash in my coupon, secretly hoping to find something pretty for my next interlude. Hubby and son stay in the car. Girls and I head into the mall. After setting the ground rules that there will be no excursions to Claire's or Bath & Body Works, they agree to be my shopping assistants.

The store is almost empty, with a cute, tiny Asian girl busily arranging and folding. I stare helplessly at the different styles, clueless where to start. "Can I help you?" she offers. I tell her that I'm looking for a comfortable bra. "What size are you?" she asks perkily. 34DD. "Well, we have DDs in almost all of our styles. Do you want me to show you?" Lead the way, Honey.

I have learned with age that trying on bras is an exhausting gymnastic exercise. And I have this masochistic streak that forces me to rehang everything that I try on before I leave the dressing room. This is especially punishing when shopping for bras. To have this girl spoon-feeding me is an offer I can't refuse.

She bustles through the drawers, describing the attributes of each style, grabbing my new under wardrobe as she goes. At one point, she looks me up and down and says "Are you sure you're a 34DD? When was the last time you were measured? You know you need to be measured every 6 months." Honey, I buy new bras every 6 years, are you kidding me? Measure away.

She wraps, she looks. She wraps lower, she looks. Consternation crosses her brow as she delivers the seemingly bad news, "I'm getting 34C." Fabulous! If I'm a 34C I'll be able to wear every cute bra in the store! Maybe this workout program is working better than I'd hoped. "Let's get you back to the dressing room to try on a few sizes." My thoughts exactly.

The girls play Miss Mary Mack and make silly faces at each other in the mirror as I try on the first bra, 34C. My 8 year-old turns around and pats my bulging breasts like bongo drums, "Ooh Mommy, that doesn't fit!" No shit, kiddo.

I wait patiently for my gal to check in on me so that she can see how WRONG she was to hand me such an inadequate option. "Yeah, you're puckering," she muses. She tosses a 34D over the door, which still "puckers." Over comes the 34DD. Ahh, sweet moment of victory! I TOLD her I was a 34DD.

But after all possible adjustments are made, I'm told I'm "gapping." Subsequent wriggling and fidgeting with at least 10 more bras yield the gal's expert opinion, "You're somewhere between a D and a DD." Great, I'm in Bra Limbo. I can buy DDs with the idealistic enthusiasm that I will somehow continue to lose weight working out and get larger breasts. Or I can buy the Ds with the idealistic enthusiasm that I will continue to lose enough weight to fit into them.

I compromise and buy 2 Ds and 2 DDs. But wait...it's not over.

I have to find panties to match. And I don't even call them panties. It's underwear. Hers, his, who cares. It's underwear.

I eventually emerge with 4 bras, 5 panties, and a $250 tab.

Hubby loves it. The combo of the newly fit bod, the brazilian wax, and the lingerie is so intoxicating, he doesn't think to ask why.

Mom, however, is a little older, wiser, and penis-less. She offers to throw my new under duds in the wash with hers. As she's hanging them on the drying rack, she quips, "These are awfully nice...you're not having an affair are you?"

You know what, Mom? I'm dying to tell you. I genuinely believe you'll understand. But right now, no, I'm not, Mom.