...and ready for the three of you who still care about my bra size.
After last week's Great Bra Size Debate, the terms of the bet were renegotiated to allow for a recount. So off I went to Nordstrom, home of the mass-market upscale bra fitting experience. After repeated instructions to face the wall and put my arms out, I was measured by a clerk, verified by a manager, and forced to try on about two dozen bras. After all that, I turned out to be...a 34A. As ever, and ever shall be.
Sorry, Thunderbird. Better luck next time!
Also, I have never been so thoroughly sick of my boobs.