My sister and I both have broad shoulders, and small breasts. Boobs never really appeared for us, and even through my pregnancy, I simply actually fit into the B-cup bras that I'd only had because my mother refused to accept that I was actually an A-cup. My mother on the other hand, has ginormous boobs, and has often spoken of her disbelief of my chest size. To mess with her further, I often point out while finding clothes for squishy, that bras my size can be found in the children's section.
Anyway, on to the silliness.
Apparently, while squishy was gone, my mother had bought her training bras, because I don't know why. The evening after she got home, she was laying with me as we watched something nerdy, and ma was trying to get her away to be up her butt and get her ready for bed.
Ma got Squishy into her room by asking if she'd seen the new things in her room. Squishy, thinking this was the books she was only mildly interested in (because my mother is bad at knowing what Squishy actually enjoyed) walks in slowly, thinking that's the end of it.
I then hear her ask what something else is for, and then she comes in to my room, saying that she had new bike shorts for under dresses, and bras.
Now, Squishy is eight. She still has a couple years until puberty kicks in, and has no need whatsoever for bras. I walk in, because this is obviously my mother just deciding to buy needless shit again. Ma says they're for undershirts, which I still think is a little bit bullshit, and take a look.
They look like sports bras, and are a kids large, which is still too big on her, but ma buys everything too large for Squishy, and makes excuses, but doesn't stop Squishy from hating most of it. I look at the size of the bras, and say they might fit me. Ma starts hollering that they won't fit, and that they're a children's. Refusing to let this opportunity go to waste, I take the hanger with both bras into my room, giggling like crazy, as Squishy follows me in.
Welp, they fit. And not like snug digging in. They fit perfectly, with plenty of stretch left in the fabric. Squishy and I can't stop giggling as I walk out of my room to show ma, and she can't help but grumble, still in disbelief that I fit into kid's training bras.
About to turn twenty-nine, still look sixteen, and able to fit into bras for grade schoolers. Things that I will always giggle over.