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.
Huh?
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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.
Dang.
A Southern witch returns home. Secrets won’t stay buried. A chance to confront and heal—or face the consequences.
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