Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree Curves.

I’m not spending much money these days, but when I took the girls  shopping tonight for school clothes, I indulged in a couple of new, er, bras. No leather or fur this time—just luscious laces. I’ve always had a bit of a love affair with them, but hey, there’s only so much an A girl can do  in her teens, her twenties, into her thirties. That changed  a  few  years  ago  and,  apparently,  it’s  changed again.

The Long-Awaited Honest-to-God Secret to Being Happy


They say that 85% of women  wear the wrong  bra. That statistic is  all over the Internet, along with calculators that have consistently put me at an A or maaaaaaaybe a B. And still do tonight. Two words for them:  not so. You can’t  decide by pixels  and math—it’s  got to be a hands-on experience.

But  because  of  calculators  and  formulas  and  the mindset that  once I got to a certain place at, oh, what? 25? 35? That I was done and I’d be that forever.

My body’s  been  changing  in  the  past  six  months. More lean muscle. Less weight. Less inches.

But not everywhere.

Imagine my shock  when I realized  tonight  that  my cup size has gone up again.

Dang, she whispered.

Yeah. Where was that in my teen years, my twenties, my thirties….

Dang. I’m celibate for a few years and it goes up. The Gods are laughing uproariously.



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