It's official. My boobs are weird.

It is a quest that has spanned over a year, many,many stores, and countless brands and styles. No bra seems to fit me.

Today I went to the charming boutique where I got lingerie for my wedding. This place is like the cathedral of all bra knowledge. It's the kind of place where just after you walk in, the owner will look you over and produce exactly what you need and in the right size.

I explained my fit problem to her. I also explained that since I had shingles, I found wearing a bra to be almost unbearable. This makes fit especially important.

She whipped out her measuring tape and hurried me into a fitting room. She measured and measured again. She clucked her tongue and bustled out of the fitting room. She came back with one bra. One. It is the one I bought for the wedding. It hurt just to look at it, and as soon as I had it on, the saleswoman scowled and kind of bit her lip. She left and came back with another bra. That one sort of fit, but if I'm going to fork over $67 for a bra, I want it to fit like it was made just for me.

And that was it. That was my entire selection. My friend who was with me, though, the one who takes a 32D, had an entire drawer full of delicate, lovely, sweet bras to try on. They all fit and they all looked perfect on her.

The saleswoman came back once more with a whole bunch of C-cup bras. I told her there was no way, not even at my current 181 pounds, I would ever fill a C cup. She told me try on a few anyway. After the second one, she got the message loud and clear. May is not even close to a C cup.

So, I muddle along with my impossible bra size, lingering shingles pain, and a collection of very utilitarian bras that don't quite fit. Sigh.