Dear Victoria's Secret,
I was about to make a joke about having found out your REAL "secret," but that's a little too punny, and I'm trying to get away from that (see above). So let me just start out by saying that I am really, really, disappointed in you guys. You have broken my heart. Or rather, the upper ventral region of my torso, in general.
For years, I have been a loyal customer. I do believe I have 300-400 dollars worth of VS swag in my top drawers. Expensive bras--many of them bought on sale, but nevertheless at a much higher cost than the cheap cotton slings one can buy for 3-10 dollars at Target or Wal-Mart. I believed in your product. I believed in you. I believed that you had the best interests of us top-heavy gals in mind. That was how I justified spending all that money at your product. I do not currently own any bras from any other stores.
I have, fortunately or unfortunately, been fulsome in the chest since I was about ten. For years, I tried to hide them using an ill-conceived combination of sports bras and big t-shirts, but when I was in college, I discovered that in some circles, having large breasts is considered an asset, one to be shared with the world. My best friend insisted that properly fitting bras can do wonders for one's figure and self-esteem, and because she shopped at Victoria's Secret, so did I.
I have been measured at Victoria's Secret quite a few times, and every time was told I was a D (in my early twenties) or a DD (later on). This I accepted without question. I was given very little information about how a bra is supposed to fit, and so accepted my VS bras without reservation.
Until last weekend. My girlfriends and I were laying about talking about our breasts (as we are wont to do) and Leah suggested we figure out how much our boobs weigh so that we can subtract it from the "weight to feel bad about" equation. I mentioned that, having the smallest breast size, mine would likely weigh the least.
Me: Isn't it weird that my bra size is so much smaller than yours?
Leah: What is it?
Leah: What? No way.
Me: That's what they've always said at Vicky's.
Leah: Well, yeah. But how far do their sizes go?
Me: Up to a DD ... Oh my gosh.
Leah: (pokes me in the sternum, because that is what friends do) Um, your bra is NOT fitting you properly. That is supposed to be AGAINST your skin.
Bridgette: It's a plot!
Leah: Why don't you try on one of B's bras. She's a G. See if it fits any better.
From my experience trying on my buxom friend's bra, and being fitted at Nordstrom (which carries bras nearly to the end of the alphabet), I discovered that I am not, in fact, a DD, but rather a G. Even the poor sap at Nordstrom, who I think must have been new, had trouble figuring out my size, but Sarah made it happen with her chutzpah and Nordstrom's measuring tape. But it's a sure thing now. I am a G.
You bastards. I could see stuffing me into a bra ONE size too small, maybe, but THREE SIZES TOO SMALL?
Do I look like the Grinch to you?
I feel so lied to. To add insult to injury, it's not like there's a big market for used bras, even really expensive ones. I hope your water bras flood your headquarters and destroy your entire evil empire.
Also, Bravissimo, I think you have won yourselves a brand new customer.
Hs and Ks,