Oh, I forgot tell you – this should have gone in yesterday’s post – I bought a Victoria’s Secret bra in NYC – Body by Victoria demi unlined – for the curious. I just went in with my friend and told a very knowledgeable saleswoman that I needed to replace the one I had which was worn out. Of course, I had just missed the clearance sale, so they had the new models in. I picked up a black one in my size, bought it and left. No, I did not try it on, it was a zoo in there, and I didn’t want to be there all day. I put it on later at the hotel, fits perfectly. Except for one thing. It squeaks. Yep, like mice. The underwire. No time to take it back. I try it on again, still squeaks. I go into the living room and go to pick up my laptop. Squeak, squeak. I can’t go out like this. So I figure, I just paid $42 and now I’m screwed cause I’m going to have to post it back and beg my girlfriend to return it for me. But I call Victoria Secret and I tell my sad story to a customer service rep. Silence on the other end. I feel like an idiot. So I put my phone on speaker and pick up the lively thing and move it around. It squeaks. The customer service reps starts laughing and admits she had never heard of a bra squeaking. She gives me 3 options, I can receive a gift card for the said amount, to be used online for anything, or the next time I visit the States or… she can send me a new bra, free of charge. I say, send me the bra. I just want a bra. She didn’t even want me to send the bra back with the receipt.
I love Victoria’s Secret. Even if I don’t morph into one of their gorgeous models when I put the stuff on.
A Woman My Age 