My brother is getting married in 6 weeks. This, of course, means I need a new dress. Though I am not normally concerned with things like fashion and vanity, I am incredibly concerned about how I will look for the wedding. My two sisters are bridesmaids, my children are flower girls, and my father is the best man. I cannot stand next to my dressed to the nines family and look like the frumpy big sister.

Originally, my little sister—AKA fashion queen—was supposed to shop with me. She hasn’t made it here yet so I actually picked out my own dress, which I am ordinarily not allowed to do because I apparently have horrible taste in clothing. I keep waiting for my sisters to sign me up for What Not To Wear, which I would only pretend to be upset about since it includes a whole new wardrobe.

I found the flouncy, sexy $98 little dress for $24! Twenty-four. Dollars. The sales lady brought me the Oprah bra, of all things, to try on with the dress. The dress looked fabulous and then I found the most perfect shoes in the clearance room. Yes, they have an entire room dedicated to sale shoes.

All this means I had money to spare in my “find the perfect outfit” budget, which brings me back to the Oprah bra. My irritatingly large breasts looked amazing in this bra. They were perky like they haven’t been in years. They stay where they are supposed to, there’s no jiggling, and it is actually comfortable.

I had to have this bra. I needed this bra. A quick look at the $5000 price tag—okay, $62—indicated I should probably run the purchase by hubby. I only had to say “My boobs look amazing” twice before he said to buy it. I am so in love with my awesome boobie bra that I now need it in all 3 colors of all 4 styles.

I will wear this bra until the day I die. And then I will be buried in it so my callers can see how amazingly awesome my boobies look even in death.