Leave Your Pride at the Door

Today I left my pride at Victoria's Secret.  A large chunk of it sank when after "fitting me," a young, buxom 19 year- old flatly informed that my chest is now a size smaller.  I know she doesn't know anything about having babies, putting on 50+ pound, loosing 50+ pounds (three times!) and what that does to a woman's body (and mind).  I'm sure she had no idea how just hearing the letter B deflated not just my ego, but part of the definition of the way I see myself.  Why can't V.S. hire mom-types to roam the store measuring people and making suggestions? I imagine instead of the dead look of apathy, this mom-type would break it to me gently with real compassion, "Oh honey, I hate to tell you this, I know what you've been through.  But you are now a B cup.  I know how disappointed you must feel, but don't you worry, you're still a woman."  Strike one.

In an attempt to preserve my self-respect (and also because I blindly wanted to believe it wasn't true) I took both sizes with me to the dressing room.  The line to get to the dressing room was 40 minutes long.  But for me the possibility of proving that young thing wrong made it worth the wait. When I finally got to the front of the line and a door opened up, I started to move to the empty dressing room but was stopped by another young woman, dressed in a tight revealing top.  "What's your bra size," she loudly asks.  Remember that I had just waited for 40 minutes, so you can imagine the large crowd of women within immediate hearing distance.  "What's your size?"Again, louder.  I felt like a squirrel caught in the headlights.  Why in the world would I announce to all of Victoria's Secret my freshest disappointment? I cut around her and slammed the door shut, sweating with humiliation.  Strike two.

Inside the dressing room, my worst fears were confirmed. Indeed, I am now a B.  Strike three.

Completely deflated, I waited in yet another line to pay.  As I waited I looked around watching people, noticing the variety of women in the store.  It seemed that every woman made me feel worse and worse about myself.  And then I saw something strange and most unlikely. A black cap pinned on the back of a braided head.  This head belonged to a mennonite woman in a simple, long dress. She wasn't wearing any make-up and had probably driven to the mall in a horse and buggy.  She wasn't alone. There were four of these women browsing the braziers in Victoria's Secret.  I realized how foolish I had been feeling.  If these women could walk into a place where they completely didn't fit in and confidently buy themselves the bras they needed, then gosh-darn it, so could I!  

Yes. It's true that most of my pride is still on the floor of V.S. But in the end I came out ahead. Lo and behold, my bra rang up for $15 less than I expected.  And I learned an important lesson:  a woman's a woman no matter how small.