The Day I Stopped Being Afraid of Victoria's Secret Employees

In case you've forgotten,
this is what I typically wear

On Thursday, July 25, I traveled to Portland to go to the DMV for the third time that week. It turns out, to be a journalist, it sometimes requires driving. As such, I need a working car, and a driver's licence. Only, mine had been expired since my birthday...in April.

The first time I'd gone, I'd needed a birth certificate. (Hard to do because my mother is unreliable, etc.) So I got my birth certificate, and went back a few days later with a co worker. This time, because I don't have a lease, and haven't registered my car to the town I'm living in, and all my mail goes to my PO Box, I don't exist as a person....so I was rejected again and handed affidavits for people to fill out stating that I do, in fact, live in Maine.

Finally, at my third time at the DMV, I got my picture taken, proved my vision is worthless without my glasses or contacts, and boom! I now have a temporary licence while I wait for mine to come in the mail. (For those keeping count, I've now had licences in Michigan, Massachusetts, and now, Maine!) In celebration of FINALLY being a real person again, I went to the mall to buy a new bra.

I have this thing with Victoria's Secret. I love their bras and undies, however, I'm always SUPER awkward about going into their store. As always, I stood outside for an extra second, took a deep breath, convinced myself I'm an adult, and walked through into the land of pink.

Somehow, though I'd been waiting for it all year, I'd managed to miss the semi annual sale. There was still a small bin of bras left, so I looked at them and went to the fitting room. (Ladies, if you've never tried on anything at Victoria's Secret, you need to. I am not kidding. Their mirrors just make you want to take off your clothes.) So I took off the dress I was wearing and tried on the bras that were the same size as the one I had on...only...something didn't feel right.

In the fitting rooms, they have service buttons, and the woman who'd opened the door for me told me to push it if I needed "sized". Well, it turns out I did. After about a minute of debating with myself (I didn't have any pants on, I'd only worn a dress in...etc) I pushed the little button, panicked because I was literally standing there in a bra and underwear, and then she came in and agreed, I was totally wearing the incorrect size. Not only the band size, but cup as well. I had to go down two band sizes and up a cup.

From that moment on, she came to my fitting room several times with different bras to try on, a tape measure, etc. She didn't look at my body like I was disgusting. She didn't shame me or make me feel like an idiot for being uncomfortable in my own skin, or not truly understanding how to pick out a proper bra even though I'm 25 years old. She was professional and incredibly helpful. She even went so far as to find me which bras I wanted to buy.

And on that day, I bought two new bras :)

I understand that for many women, this sort of thing is easy, but for me, it wasn't. I'm not used to wearing girl clothes. I'm not used to talking about boobs, or bra sizes, or allowing strangers to see me mostly naked. But the woman who helped me never once made me feel like an idiot, or some sub par female for needing/asking for help.

I'm not going to lie, it felt pretty empowering to finally get a bra that hugs me rather than hides me.

Encouragement

So, my living situation kind of um...sucks. There's a 62 year old man who has decided to pick fights with me on a daily basis. He's also been having his mother spending several nights here, and so she, too, is picking fights with me. One night, after I decided to take it upon myself to remind her that -I- pay rent here, she does not, she decided to call me crazy. It's kind of been bringing me down a lot recently, and making me more angry than I'd like to be.

This then, led to me venting on twitter. One such day, I stated:

Roommates have decided to play crappy country music too loud. I want to write a sign that says: Quiet Please, Memoir Writing in Progress

A few days later, one of my Twitter followers, also a girl I work with, Amanda, did this:

The sign says, "Quiet Please, Memoir writing in progress!"
It made my day, and even made going home that night much more bearable.

Then, yesterday, a good friend from college, Claire, came to the house, made me dinner, and we stayed in the dining room and chatted for a few hours. She kept laughing at my living situation, my evil roommates, the evil mother. There was nothing we could really do, but laugh.

And then she put down a box, a writing care package that looks like this:

She wrote amazing messages to me, things from her life that I wouldn't have known otherwise. And the best part? Most of it consisted of food! (The rest was drinks, so that's rad, too!)

So, why are these things popping up on my blog? Aside from the fact that they're just awesome?

Because I feel that other writers need to surround themselves with positive encouragement. Try to have people in your life who bring you up, even if all they do is tell you that your writing rocks. Sometimes, we just need a bit of a lift, maybe in the form of notes and food, or a sign that simply says, "Quiet, Please. Writing In Progress".