Last May, I won a dress in an estate auction. A vintage dress. A 1950's Anne Fogarty Margot Inc. dress. I L-O-V-E vintage clothing. I am convinced I was born in the wrong era.
Enter Sadness. The dress didn't fit. If I sucked in enough, I could zip it up to my waist but as the zipper inched closer to my bra line, it was a lost cause. I tried to figure out how much it would cost for me to alter it. And in my closet it has hung. For over a year.
Until tonight.
Today I had myself measured at the lingerie department of a store. The last time I had myself measured was last Fall before I started my Turbofire journey. After a year of not nursing or being pregnant, none of my pre-pregnancy bras fit. My measurements were a 36/38C. As of this afternoon - a little over 240 days later - and I am measuring as a 30/32C! The sizes weren't carried so the salesgirl told me to try a 34B. It fit. It fit PERFECT! I posted my announcement on Facebook and my uncle asked if I was complaining or bragging. "BRAGGING!", I posted proudly. Then I mentioned that I had this certain vintage dress that refused to fit me properly.
And I wondered...
So I dug it out of my closet. I tried it on and I could ZIP IT UP!
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| Pardon the mess in the background! |
Now I just need me a crinoline petticoat and a string of pearls.
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