Booby Trap

Boobs. Women have them, men lust after them... They come in all shapes and sizes, big, small, flat, full, pert or *ahem* not so pert, loved, loathed, and fake.

To mirror this, the bras come in all shapes and sizes. And while changing in the gym the other day I spotted a gorgeous deep purple lace bra, cut into two neat plunge line triangles. It was so pretty and petite and I had to have it.

After making an awkward, blush inducing, and probably against-all-gym-changing-room-etiquette bra enquiry I find out it’s from La Perla.

I make a conscious effort to check my bank balance, ignore it and find myself in the nearest La Perla store.

Staring passed the sales assistant I try to hide that my eyes are welling with tears. They don’t have my size, and not in an ‘out of stock’ way, but in a ‘we don’t do it IN your size’ kind of way.

I’m one of those girls who have boobs but don’t like or use them accordingly, i.e. I have a gorgeous plunging black dress which I choose to wear backwards, making it a slash neck front thus hiding said boobs.

I avoid V-neck shaped tops, plunging necklines, wonder bras, sweetheart cuts, anything that reveals a cleavage of any kind. This probably sounds like a job for a therapist, instead it’s the focus of many a wine fuelled debate among friends. Particularly my 32F friend Abby, who can’t understand why – “they are such a waste on you,” she slurs. Which they are, an utter waste.

I talk as if I can rival the mass that adorns Jordan, I can’t, I’m a simple 32E… DD in some shops (but that’s another blog!)

And I'm not the only one, the average bra size in the UK is 36C, which is a pretty full bust, so why is it that pretty bras are only in the A to C cups?

While bra super giants, Bravissimo boast a fantastic stash of gorgeous bras,




my 32E self feels that they can’t quite beat the petite gorgeousness (and lack of full on steel girder support) of the A cup La Perla range;



Whenever I track down my size bra, they are inevitably of the ‘dinner lady’ variety. The ones that my dear friend Dionne never tires of pulling over the top of her head squealing, "ha-ha look at the size of this one!" – she’s 25 years old... and married... with a baby on the way.

Or I reach for the A cup and it looks so pretty, I then almost decapitate myself sticking my head behind the rail to find the bigger sizes, only to pull the 32E out in horror – it’s just never as pretty.

Although I long for a smaller, petite bust, for days where I can actually do a shirt up properly or to even toy with the idea of a backless dress, my A-cup friends dream of a 'cup runneth over, oh to have a shirt bursting at the buttons' type scenario.

'Any more than a handful is a waste,' I once overheard a guy reassuring his pouting, flat chested girlfriend as I looked down at my straining shirt button... It seems the grass is always greener on the other boob…