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The week of Thanksgiving, tragedy struck. The wire in the too-big bra snapped, leaving me with the too-small bra. Doesn't that sound like a fun thing to wear during Thanksgiving festivities? It wasn't. I lost count of the number of times my wayward tits popped out, threatening to take out the whole luncheon spread.

Still not wanting to return to the bra store, I decided to take a chance and purchase two bras from a major plus-size retailer. Slight problem: they don't carry anything bigger than a DDD in their stores. While my actual measurements fall within the range of the bras they carry in their store, they're a bunch of fucking liars. The numbers on their bras are nowhere near the numbers on the tape measures. I took a chance and bought the bras online.

Now, I understand that the store can't carry every single bra in every single size. They've got to stock what sells the most, which means some very dusty 48H's taking up a lot of real estate. The problem is, the bigger the boobs, the harder they are to fit. Ordering 20 bras and turning my house into a fitting room isn't an option, regardless of what my husband tries to tell me.

I ordered two bras. One definitely didn't fit. One sort of, maybe, kind of fit. I returned the definiely not-fitting bra and ordered another option. By the time that bra arrived, I decided the sort of, maybe, kind of fitting bra was actually a device created for the sole purpose of thrusting my boobs up to my throat, where their bulk would cut off my oxygen while the baby boa constrictor housed inside the underwire proceeded to crush my ribcage in preparation for a meal of Delicious Fat Girl.

I moved on to bra #3, which housed an even stronger, hungrier serpant. Fearing for my life, and the lives of my loved ones - live a few weeks with these tits and shitty bras and try to not go completely homicidal - I returned to the bra shop. But instead of going to my previous location, I went to the new locale, near Pretty Town.

And as I was whisked to the fitting room, the angels sang as a tiny young woman fondled my breasts, flopped them into a bra, and hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! It fit! The first one! It fit like it was made for me! No snakes! Cheaper than the ones I had ordered!

I cried a little, and then I stared at my slamming rack for a few minutes. I also let another salesperson stick her hand up the front of my shirt in the middle of the store. She said she was adjusting something, but I think she was just making a run for second base. Considering how happy I was to finally have happy boobies, I probably would have let her go to third if she'd asked. But not on the sales floor; I only do that in the dressing rooms.

Anyway ... since I was in the neighborhood of a mall, and even though I hate malls and I really, really, really hate malls this time of year, I wanted my damn money back from the snake brassaires. I didn't want to make another trip out, and besides, I'm in dire need of jeans.

Seriously. You don't even want to know what's been covering my ass. It's worse than the bra situation. The zippers on every pair of jeans I own have been held up with safety pins for - I am so ashamed to admit this - over a year. They've been patched repeatedly. It's not that I'm a pauper. I just hate shopping for jeans even more than I hate shopping for bras. Perhaps if I had a salesperson who would come into the dressing room and properly place my ass in the seat of my pants, the same way the bra saleperson places my boob in my bra cup, I'd feel differently.

Glory glory! They had some cute jeans I'd looked at recently, and they'd marked them down 50%! The idea of paying $50 for a pair of jeans made me queasy, just on principle. Skinny girls can buy plain, basic jeans for a hell of a lot less than that. My ass may be big, but I know a little about sewing, and I'm pretty sure my ass doesn't required $25 in extra fabric to be covered. I know, it's not about the fabric. It's about what the market will bear. There are fewer choices for plus size gals, so retailers can charge a higher price. It sucks, but it's cheaper than gastric bypass surgery. And it won't kill you.

Anyway, I found two pairs of jeans I loved. Better yet, I had a coupon for $15 off any $50 purchase. My jeans were both at least $25, so cool!

But while I was trying on my jeans, I overheard a conversation in the next dressing room. No, no one was rounding second and headed to third. It was between a hesitant customer and a pushy salesclerk.

"But my breast is popping out of the cup," the customer said. "It doesn't fit."

"Oh, it's supposed to do that! The band fits you perfectly. And you know how bras stretch. Wear it a few times, and the cups will stretch to fit you!"

"I really need a black bra. This bright turquoise one will show through my dress."

"Oh, just throw on a cami! It'll be fine."

It was all I could do to not kick the wall and yell, "Yo! You're not getting paid on commission, you snake! You're being a big, underwiry snake, Salesperson!"

"Maybe I should just go to that new bra shop. I've heard they're good."

"Oh, no. I had a friend go there, and she said they're really, really expensive. The cheapest bra was $80!"

To which I looked down at my brand-new $27 bra from said bra shop.

After I finished with my jeans, I slunk around the store, waiting for a moment to talk to the woman from the dressing room or her teenage daughter without the salesperson in earshot. Eventually, I caught up to the daughter and whispered, "Don't let your mom buy the bras here. I heard the saleperson talking her into a bra that didn't fit. Go to the bra shop. They're cheaper and they won't screw you over."

She, of course, looked at me like I might whip off my perfectly-fitting bra, wrap it around her neck, and drag her off to The Coven of the Bra Shop for ritual sacrifice.

Later, I was paying for my jeans at one cash register and the mom/daughter boob duo were at the next one. Mom was wearing her new bra, and her nipples hung down to her elbows. Saggy, turquoise nipples. And ... and !!! They were opening a store credit card to purchase all of their ill-fitting bras! Why don't you just throw yourself down the snake's gullet? You're making it suck for the rest of us!

Meanwhile, my jeans were priced as such that my total came to $49.50, rendering my $15 coupon obsolete. I had tried on three pairs of jeans. One pair didn't fit and I returned them to the salesperson. "Would you like to get that third pair of jeans so you can use your coupon?" Why yes. I would love to spend an extra $20 on a pair of jeans that don't fit so I can "save" $15.

I'm so fucking punk rock, I threw my coupon away and paid the damn $49.50.

My tits are covered. My ass is covered. I stuck it to the man. Sort of. I tried to save some boobies. And I gave money to two gals for the priviledge of letting them get to second base with me. Please God, let these bras and jeans last another two years before I have to go through this all over again.