“Still Wobbly – Part 2”

From now on, the guys can stop reading, unless of course you want to blush.
Having established that the capital was not only “still there” but functioning as normal (albeit with a raging gale force wind), I decided to venture out at lunchtime on a quest for the holy grail. Yes, a bra. This is my third attempt in three months. Every time I have come out of the shop thinking I was deformed. Why was there every size except mine?
I have a number of questions concerning this pursuit.
1) Why is it so darn complicated? It’s binary for crying out loud. Two boobs require two straps, two wires, two cups and two hooks and eyes at the back.
2) Why do bras come labelled in 7 different sizes, according to the bit of the planet you are standing on? (I think the answer to this is that China is the chief purveyor of bras to the planet, and therefore makes a label that covers every eventuality).
3) Why is it essential to have a cup which looks like a carry out Styrofoam? Are they supposed to be recycled and used for lattes afterwards? Perhaps they are expected to double as swine flu masks when not in use?
I don’t want rhinestones or a pewter letter “t” sewn on the lace. I don’t want to be nuclear fall out proofed or with enough metal to alert airport security. I don’t want a different colour to match every thermal vest I own. I can do without the scratchy neon lace, the halter, strapless, invisible strap, cyber meld to the ribs kind.
I just need something that assists two parts of my anatomy to defy gravity.