I don't know how you manage to do it, but every single time I buy bras, you somehow have occasion to be shopping at the bra store at the same time. It doesn't matter where I make my purchase, whether locally or out of state. Or even in another country where my bra size is some godawful huge number like 90 and they can't at least make it up to me by giving me a smaller letter to go with the huge number, but that's not really the point.
Now, I can understand why you might hang out at places like Target where they mostly sell the S/M/L lines of cartoon character panties with the matching not-really-bras. I expect to find you there. But what I don't understand is why you show up at every single sort of bra store. You even manage to show up in the places that specialize in expensive "full-figure" bras.
Like, today, for instance. There I was, in the fitting room at Lady Grace, thinking I had scored the best possible bra-shopping outcome in that I had successfully convinced the saleslady (and I do mean "lady," not "person") that I definitely knew what size I wore, and I had managed to get escorted into the fitting room with no offers of following me in and groping me while I tried them on. But no, girl at the bra store, you just had to show up and ruin it all, didn't you?
So I'm in the fitting room, where I had mistakenly decided to try the racerback version of an old standby compression/sports/minimizing/cramming-them-in-as-tight-as-possible bra. After I decided I didn't like the effect it created wherein it made my back fat into an extra set of boobs shooting out of my armpits, I started to take it off, simultaneously strangling myself and nearly amputating my arms, when I heard your voice from the next fitting room and realized you had followed me to the bra store yet again.
After using extreme adjectives and way too much squeaky inflection in commending the salespers--er--lady for being so absolutely completely totally right about which size would work best, you had to go and tell her it wasn't soft enough. Not only was it not soft enough, but it felt too much like a bra. I wasn't sure exactly what it was you thought you were buying, but then you clarified for me -- you like them to feel really like you're not wearing one. As I tried on the next bra, which managed to have nice support along with some most excellent plates of armor along the sides for holding in the armpit fat and some up top for ensuring there would be no quadraboob issues, you loudly explained to her how you really only need to have them around at all for those activities where you just really have to wear a bra.
Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm clearly someone who values all body types, and I find derogatory comments about skinny people as offensive as those toward fat people. I mean, come on, girl at the bra store, it's not that I object at all you or anyone else having no boobs. I don't have any opinions about your boobs at all. I don't even know you or your boobs. In fact, I'm not sure I've even seen any more of you than the occasional hand-tossing-the-too-braish-bra-over-the-door. It's just that I don't understand why you insist on following me all over the world to every bra store I've ever been into. I mean, you can't possibly need very many bras, given your avowed lack of need for them. So I really don't get why you shop for them at least as much as a very-much-bra-needing gal like myself does. And really, couldn't you at least offer to pair up with me on a bra club card so I could get some free stuff out of having an unsolicited bra-store buddy? Is that too much to ask?