At a recent girls night out, a few of my friends started gabbing about bras and how we all must get fitted for one. Eh? Didn’t we all go through this during puberty?

My friends then went on to explain that most women are wearing the wrong bra size and only a fitting by a professional can provide the, ahem, full support that you need.

“Listen to Oprah!” they preached. (Sadly, I don’t watch Oprah…but my friends are die-hard fans.)

According to them, Oprah had done a bra intervention where she revealed that as much as 85% of American women are wearing the wrong bra size.

My friends went on to explain that personalized fittings at shops such as Intimacy and Town Shop had been lifesavers. “Upscale departments stores will also suffice,” they continued.

I had written about my disdain for bra-shopping. However, I was intrigued and decided to stop by Saks after work one day.

Almost immediately I was approached by a tall blonde woman with an indistinguishable European accent. To be frank, it was a bit intimidating and I wanted to dip my toe in the water before plunging straight into the mysterious world of bras.

However, I proceeded to turn into a blubbery mess. It was that damn European accent, I swear.

I grabbed a random bra within my reach and stuttered, “Um, I’d like to try on this bra…”

“Yezz, yezz. Goode choyz. Wot eez your size?”

When I told her, she blantantly took a good look at my chest and frowned.

“No! Wee go to dressing roome…now!”

She marched me into the dressing room and ordered me to strip. One part of me wanted to crawl to a corner, curl into a fetal position and sob uncontrollably for the way she made me feel. Another part told me that this woman wasn’t to be messed with and I should follow her orders (luckily, this part won).

I timidly stripped and stood there topless while she surveyed my boobs. She whipped out a measuring tape and started to measure what felt like every inch of my womanhood.

“I woz correcte. Yoo were wearing wrong bra size.”

She then flew out of the room, leaving me in my still topless, utterly confused state, and returned just moments later with a pile of bras in her arms.

And you know what? They did fit a lot better, and my boobs LOOKED a great deal better in them.

“And deez won…DEEZ won will make some man salivate…no?”

She had strapped me into some tight lacy number that pushed my boobs up to my chins. No. So her judgment wasn’t 100% accurate.

I only purchased one thing from Saks that day because…well, being Saks, the majority of bras were pretty expensive (I even saw one marked for $375! For a BRA!!!). And I’m not too keen on wearing undergarments that are worth more than my entire outfit combined.

However, I now know my true bra size and I am very happy about that.

…I kinda miss my dominatrix salesperson.