I used to be flat-chested. Now I have double D boobs, and not a clue about what to wear to flatter my shape.
Seven years ago today, I woke up in the middle of the night with the headache to end all headaches. Several hours later I was stretched out on an operating table while neurosurgeons worked to repair a cerebral aneurysm that had ruptured in my brain. I was lucky; I lived. But the recovery and rehab went on for a couple of years past that. When it was all over, I had a different body, one I didn’t know and, more important, didn’t like. So I stopped buying clothes. Actually, I stopped buying clothes of quality. My wardrobe for the past seven years has come from Target and the like. It satisfies my urge for fashion (sort of), but the fit is quite another matter. The fit is—well, it just isn’t.
Recently, however, my professional life has taken a tick upwards and it's become clear that I can't do business in $12 crops and $9 T-shirts, no matter how cute my shoes are. Basically, I can hear my mother calling from the grave: “You can't go out looking like that! Go buy some clothes!" So I’m treading the waters of shopping for work clothes, and frankly I’m drowning.
