Attention women with boobs: to be specific those on the bigger side. I have found the mecca of mammaries, and it’s right here in Brookline!
When I hit menopause (and I say hit because that’s what I did–like it was a wall–boom) I didn’t just get cranky, have a period of chin acne, two years practically straight of migraines and my own version of climate change in the form of hot flashes that could heat a small Italian village, I got bigger boobs.
Now before you get all, “oh, she’s writing a humble brag post,” NO, I am not. See, I’ve always been a perfectly ordinary 34 B (except for when I was pregnant and my breasts became floats in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade) and I was very happy with that. I have always found breasts to be sort of cumbersome and uncomfortable. It’s always been difficult to find a place for them when I exercised and I hated how painful they got during menstrual periods. I was not ever the girl who longed for Real Housewives of Orange County breast implants. Nuh uh. In my dreams, the smaller, the better.
So, when the hormones left the building and I was suddenly a 34 DD, I did not have the faintest idea what to do with those things on my chest. Wear them as a scarf? I was mystified, couldn’t wear the clothes I’d always worn, and couldn’t find a bra I felt good in.
Now I should note here, I am grateful that I have healthy breasts. I have had many breast cancer scares and believe me when I say, I have some major gratitude that they were only scares.
I have been to all the good places for bra fittings. Sometimes I’d come out looking like I had torpedoes on my chest, ready to launch at enemy territory, or minimized, but three times wider, or just plain squished. I often find myself looking at before and after pics of breast reductions. I would never, but…..
Are you still with me? I hope so, because here’s the money shot. Donna Morton and Lulabelle. Almost a year ago, I read this article in The Globe, and immediately thought, I need to see that woman, stat. Because of the appointment factor, I kept putting it off. Until last week (when I realized it had been almost a year and almost choked on my sense of time–or that I no longer have one).
Well, girls, here’s the deal. First of all, Donna is great. She’s funny and approachable and easy to take your top off in front of. She’s also a bra whisperer. Not even exaggerating. She barely had to look at me before whipping out a gorgeous bra in just the right size to make me look good and supported, but also like, laying in a hammcok with a fruity cocktail and a cool summer breeze COMFORTABLE. And the bra was pretty! Yes, cup runneth over ladies, who generally don’t get pretty bras, PRETTY.
She also had all sorts of educational tips on the right fit and sizing, and why I shouldn’t get hung up on the cup size (which she didn’t mention, but turned out to be an E–don’t even start me on the fact that I am a fucking E cup, because I cannot even). This particular bra had to be ordered, so I still don’t have it, but I can tell you that from my brief foray with it, I was more comfortable in it than out of it. And that’s saying something.
Donna Morton, Lullabelle. 30 A to 46 H. You’re welcome.