All I want is a bra that fits well, is comfortable, looks pretty, and holds my breasts where they need to be. I don’t want to be pinched and poked under the arms with underwires, I don’t want to be squeezed and suffocated by bands and straps and cups that runneth over. I don’t want my breasts to look misshapen. I used to have a killer rack. I loved it. Now, well, it’s just a rack that needs a little love.

Someone explain to me how every fucking bra manufacturer manages to make their bras so different, in the way they fit, and hold, and look, that it’s nearly impossible to find a bra that’s a perfect match for my body? Twice in my life I’ve found bras that worked well, and I bought those bras, in (what I thought) was my size for a year or two, and it was easy and stress free, and I was brand loyal, and THEN, twice, the bras were changed, or discontinued, and my body changed as I got older and my weight has fluctuated and now I’m back at square one. Braless. (Figuratively.)

I was recently measured, to see what my current bra size should be. I wanted something new and pretty, and I bit the bullet and presented my breasts for evaluation. I suspected I had been in the wrong size for a long time, as I think many women are. Okay, actually, I knew I was in the wrong size, because Special Man has been after me to get new bras for months. Or maybe a year. (Or more.)

By the way, I hate bra sizing.

So I had been in bras sized 40D, and I knew they were too big, sort of, except sometimes I was overflowing the tops of them, so who the hell knew if I needed bigger or smaller bras, and what does that mean anyway when you’ve got band size and cup size and then you throw in all the different varieties of plunge bras, demi bras, push ups and full coverage, and that’s not even the tip of the iceberg.

The gal with the tape measure proclaimed I was a 36DD. Yeah, right, I thought. It sounded ridiculous. Still, I tried on a dozen different styles, and I could see that indeed, the DD was a good call. I danced around in the dressing room, attempting to dislodge the girls from the bra cups, and immediately dismissed any bra that lent itself easily to the overflow issue. I came home with a single bra. I had narrowed the field down to two styles, but at the last minute, I couldn’t commit to both.

I’m telling you, I have serious bra trauma.

Even now, I don’t think the size is right. It’s closer, for sure. But, still…

Someone shoot me.

I got a killer deal on a car.  Older, well-maintained Pontiac Grand Am that I really like.  Kind of cute.  I figured I’d drive it until next summer, and then it would make an ideal car for my teenagers to drive.

And now I know why it was such a good deal.  Apparently there’s a common issue with a few makes and models of cars and their security systems, and my cute little new red car is one of them.   Randomly, the car’s security system will be triggered and the car will not start.  Will.  Not.  Start.  The security light flashes for about fifteen minutes, and when it goes off, then the car starts.  Talk about annoying.  I can’t figure out what is triggering it, and from what I read on the internet, it’s some kind of common electronic thing that just happens with the ignition reading something wrong. Or something.

It’s almost funny. (Almost.)  The car troubles that have surrounded me lately just keep coming.  I had a choice between a new 2014 car, or this (very) old, 2000 Pontiac which would keep me out of debt.  It seemed like such a smart thing to do. It runs beautifully, when the damn security system lets me drive it!  Also the click-click of the turn signal just decides to go off occasionally…there must be a short somewhere.  I’m not sure what my next step is.  Maybe I can live with it.  Maybe I can find someone to fix it, there are YouTube videos and web pages devoted solely to this lame little problem.

Now I’m off to find my big flannel nightshirt, climb into bed, and think about other, more pleasant things before falling asleep.  (And that’s all I’m saying about that…)