I.B.T.C.

Oh good! So I'm not the only one who knows that the above acronym stands for "Itty Bitty Tittie Committee!" (Hey, Pie Maker, I wish I could say that 27 years had changed MY membership in that illustrious club, but sadly it hasn't.)

Well anyways. So yeah, since I'm feeling in a tell-all mood today, let it hearby be known by all of you out there who don't know me personally that I've got itsy bitsy leetle tiny boobies. And I don't care what pervert out there knows it. In fact, I don't MUCH care that they're that small anymore. They are, if you must know, not even a cup-size A. Seriously, I've gone bra shopping before, purchased an A-cup, and found that it's all puckered and baggy when I get it home. On the other hand, I've nursed 2 babies just fine. They are fully functional as far as I can tell. And--get this!--they haven't begun sagging yet in my mid-30's because they're just not affected that much by gravity. There's not much there TO be affected by gravity.

Bra-less, then, I have historically worn black and dark blue, or maybe dark-patterned, clothing items up top. You can't see through them, see, to tell that I have no bra on. At least that's what I tell myself. Lately, though, I've become enamored with the idea of wearing COLORS. Y'all take that for granted, don't you? That you can wear a bra and then any colored shirt on top of it that you want, right? For members of the I.B.T.C., though, it ain't that simple. And don't tell me 'wear a camisole,' by the way. A camisole is a layer, and I'd like to see YOU wear 2 layers of shirts during one of our 100-degree summers. Meh.

This leads me to my big confession, which I must share with SOMEONE, since I'm too mortified to tell this to my husband yet. I decided to just suck it up and go bra shopping once and for all the other day. Did I go to one of those famous bra shops where no-nonsense salesladies claim to be able to fit anyone? No, I did not because they don't exist down South as far as I know. (Plus, how embarrassing would THAT be?)

No, I went to Target. To the training bra section of Target. Where next to underwear in my almost 8-year old daughter's size, they also carry bras in what is apparently MY size. My size is 36. Just 36, okay? No cup size at all, thanks. Just a stretchy panel with straps that is 36 inches in circumference, and it fits my nearly flat torso perfectly.

I am alternately mortally embarrassed that I am nearly 35 and still wearing a training bra, and just thrilled that this summer I will get to wear white shirts. A whole new color palette awaits me! Just, you know, please don't mention this to my husband.