So I had decided that to celebrate one year of breastfeeding -- and to prepare for nursing into the second year -- I deserved a really nice nursing bra. After looking online I had my heart set on an Elle Macpherson brand bra, which Nordstrom carries, so one afternoon after playgroup Isaac and I went shopping.
Why didn't I go back to the shop with the psychic bra fitter? Because unlike shopping for a nursing bra before Isaac was born, this time I had my actual nursing breasts with me, which made things easier. Of course, I also had Isaac with me, which made things harder. (But not impossible: once he watched me try on 16 different swimsuits in one sitting, and although he was pretty bored by the end of it, he remained civil.)
Anyway, there we were at Nordstrom, trying to squeeze our stroller between the racks of lacy unmentionables, looking for the nursing bras. I figured as a specialty item they would be on the very outskirts of the department, but I didn't see them at all, so I finally asked a youthful sales clerk. "We keep them in the back room," she said unapologetically. "We don't have a very big selection anyway. What size are you?" I told her, and five minutes later she returned with three different bras in that size, two of them by Elle Macpherson. One style seemed to fit pretty well, so that was that. It seemed almost too simple. (Although when I asked the clerk if I could also try it in a 34E, she claimed -- incorrectly -- that they don't make it "that large." Of course they do -- it's a nursing bra, people!)
As Isaac wasn't fussy yet, I decided to shop for underpants. I asked a different clerk, "If I wear size 6 or 8 pants, do I need a size medium?" She answered in the affirmative, and then said, "Let me show you some," proceeding to lead me to a rack clear across the department. She was also very young, and she wore a tight-fitting floor-length Pucci-print dress. I wondered what on earth she was going to show me, considering she hadn't even asked what I wanted. "These are the best," she said with breathy emphasis, as if she were letting me in on a secret. She held up a hanger with what I can only describe as a granny panty. It was shiny beige polyester, and it would have covered me from thigh to navel.
I almost laughed at her for getting it so wrong. Instead I said, "I usually wear something a little less high-waisted," gesturing low along my hips. She moved a little further around the same rack, and held up the identical panty with an only slightly lower waist. "The good thing about this one," she said seriously, "is that you still get full coverage in the rear." I wondered where she had gotten the impression that I wished to thoroughly cover my rear. It was probably just because of Isaac -- maybe this young woman couldn't see past the stroller. To her, I was a Mother, and I should wear Motherly Undergarments.
I saw that this clerk-customer relationship was never going to work. I said politely that I was looking for something cotton, so maybe I would go look at the DKNY bikini underwear instead. "That's fine," she said, trailing me to the display, "but they're not cotton." She continued to hover over me as I discovered several 100% and many 97% cotton DKNY panties, although she didn't acknowlege this. And even though I was actively shopping, actually picking out panties, she tried again to steer me to more suitable underwear, pointing out another rack that was also "the best." Poor girl; I'm afraid I didn't take her or her sales assistance very seriously. How could I, when she tried three times to sell me something I told her I didn't want? In fact I found her strangely amusing, as if she were an actress playing a role, a parody of a high-end sales clerk -- hey, do you think I was on Candid Camera?
- - - - -
The true and less amusing end to this story comes after I got the bra home and tried it on again. It just doesn't seem to fit right. I am so uncertain of the fit, in fact, that I haven't cut off the tags. I find myself wishing for the quiet mature competence of the psychic bra fitter. With her help, I would have gone home with the right size. Also, she would never have implied that a 34E was unusually large. I can't say whether or not she would have tried to sell me granny panties.
No comments:
Post a Comment