Bra Shopping: Shelia's Misadventures.

    Shelia wiggled, she jiggled, she sucked in and prayed for her Slimfast shake to magically, spontaneously, reduce her girls.

The melon totting woman stood squished and squashed as her fingers fought with two ends of a bra strap. Like two polar magnets, it was impossible for the ends to come together in a happy union.

The saleswoman did measure her, correctly? Sheila tossed the double-strap noose aside and grabbed a sports bra, nothing like a boob-tube to make her feel unstoppable. She held back tears.

Breathing out, Shelia turned red, then a bluish color as she forced every ounce of spacious gas out of her body and squeezed into the sporty-delight.

Bra shopping her long term foe. How she laughed when the saleswoman offered her a black, wireless, lace, joke.

    "Comes in your size," she smiled. Yeah right.

Looking in the mirror, Shelia smiled. Pockets of skin popped, exposed, oozed, and flowed. If there was a woman who could turn a sports bra into a hammock, it was her. The smile turned into a chuckle. Tears flowed down Shelia's cheeks as the chuckle turned into a hearty laugh. Oh, the absurdity of it all.

The pink and black poka-dots looked like crop circles. Had she dared to venture put of this fitting room, police would think she was pulling them over. Taking off the bra, it made a snapping noise as it reformed back to its shape.

    "Find anything you like?" the perky saleswoman asked.

    "Yup," Shelia quipped. "I'm gonna need some fishing line a glue gun and some pink tassels, and we'll be in business!"