My Cups Runneth

By Robin Ehrlichman Woods

My Cups Runneth

I’ve frequently wondered when and how women decide what size bra they wear. Did we find a size we thought was right when we were preteens, try it on and then keep it forever? As more than 80% of women are wearing the wrong band and cup, embarrassing moments can occur. I can attest to that.

Invited to a swell elegant wedding, I found a fun, flirty purple sequined slip dress to wear for the occasion. It was extremely low cut under the arms, so I knew that a strapless bra was in my future. Easy enough to find, right? Remembering the fashion rule that beige is less visible than white under clothing, I went to a local shop and chose a plain underwire-free strapless bra in what I believed was my size. Or so I thought.

The wedding reception was the most lavish and over the top event I’ve ever attended. There was a huge ballroom filled with every kind of food imaginable and countless food stations, from made to order crepes to shellfish mountains to a whole roasted pig rotating on an open fire spit. As I made my way through the room, amazed at the display of culinary excess, I felt my bra shift a bit, and inconspicuously righted it back to where it belonged on my chest. Unused to wearing anything other than a sports bra, I figured that a strapless bra had to keep moving with you. That was my second mistake. After much hugging of relatives and friends, nibbling here and there while drinking glasses of fine wine; we were ushered into another capacious ballroom for what was announced to be a six course, sit down dinner. If anyone had any room in their stomachs to get past the salad course, I’d be surprised.

As the saga of wardrobe malfunctions began to unfold, I bent down to straighten my sagging panty hose, the norm for me as they never come with the right crotch measurements. Bringing them back from their impromptu field trip, I felt a sudden burst of cold air on my chest. Chalking it up to air conditioning turned up too high, I checked the place cards for my table number. Something continued to shift, and it wasn’t the ground beneath me. Without warning, I discovered a lump of fabric hovering around my ribcage. Oh. Oh. This can’t be good. Taking an exploratory look/see into my dress, I watched my strapless bra making its way down my body; beseeching it to stop by the time it reached my waist. Deciding that I couldn’t make up a witty enough story to explain what was going on to other guests, I had to make a bold, quick move and made a mad dash back to the cocktail reception room. I found a six foot tall topiary tower of fruits and vegetables – blessed decorating excess. Ducking behind it, I reached for the naughty unmentionable and pulled it off in what I call “The Flash Dance Maneuver.” Misbehaving bra in hand, I found a way to surreptitiously cram it into my minuscule evening bag. Mission accomplished. I made a mental note not to freshen my lipstick at the table in case the bra came tumbling out with my decorative makeup compact.

Without breaking sweat or stride, I found my assigned table and made it through the rest of the wedding reception with no one the wiser. I demurred when it came time to do the Limbo or jump up and down on the dance floor. The lesson learned was to get a professional bra fitting and choose the right size and style for my measurements. No woman needs to have a Wonder Bra that turns out to be a circus act.

About this writer

  • Robin Ehrlichman Woods is a freelance writer, local TV host and all around yenta. Life in general gives her many topics to write about; especially her frequent and legendary wardrobe malfunctions.

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