[Note: my male readers may wish to skip this post. Or perhaps not.]

Today, following the advice of Bitch, Ph.D., I finally had a professional bra fitting. And verily: it was a revelation.

If it hadn't been for the Bitch, it probably never would have occured to me that I might be wearing the wrong size. I've been wearing the same size bra since I was 16 or 18, and I've never been aware of any problems. I mean, if it fits, you know it, right? And these seemed to fit. But after the Bitch's lengthy post on bra sizing and the apparently 85% of women who are in fact wearing the wrong size, I started to scrutinize my lingerie collection and to wonder.

Then a week or two ago the New York Times published its own article about bra sizing, wherein the journalist discovered that both she and her mother were wearing--and had been wearing for decades--dramatically incorrect sizes.

So today I went to a fabulous, family-owned lingerie shop not too far away, and got fitted. And? Turns out I'm one band size smaller and one cup size bigger than what I've been wearing for years. (In the unsupportive, frilly, demi-cup jobbies that I never wear, I'm actually TWO cup sizes bigger.) I wouldn't have guessed that wearing the proper size would actually make that much difference--better for one's back, maybe, and giving a nicer line under sweaters--but damned if I wasn't wrong there, too. I've always worn a larger-than-average size, but now, I have to say, va-va-voom!

(Anyone who's interested, and who lives in my city or expects to be visiting in the near future, lemme know. I'll hook you up with THE BEST lingerie fitters in town.)