Okay, if you’re squeamish about lady things, just skip this post.

When Laurie hurt her back and had to cancel her New York trip last month, one of the many things she lamented missing was a visit to the famous Bra Man of New York. The Bra Man can just look at you and select a bra that fits — really fits — which our faithful, full-figured readers will tell you, is quite a feat. The Bra Man never touched you, he turns you around three times, goes into his boxes of bras, and comes out with yours. Off you go into the back of the store to be assisted by one of The Ladies. Sure enough, the bra fits better than anything you would have chosen for yourself and suddenly you look much more like Gina Lollobrigida than, say, the potato you were when you came in.

“Damn,” I told her feeling extra spudly that day, “that’s a bad thing to miss.” But this is LA! We have everything NYC has, it’s just spread over 470 square miles instead of Manhattan’s 23 square miles. And once she thought about it, Laurie was determined to find a Bra Man West and I told her I would definitely be up for some Lollobrigidizing.

Of course, one of Laurie’s vast network of contacts said she had the place for us: Wizard of Bras in Monrovia. So we put it on the calendar and today was the day we went on our foundations field trip.

(Now this should be the place where I would have a cool picture of the Wizard’s wacky holiday window display, but since the whole Kate photography situation is an entirely different post, I’ll just say: goddamned camera situation! and move on.)

Enter the unassuming Wizard of Bras showroom, fill out a pink slip to get a number and wait then for the “trained fitter” to call you back to the fitting room. The fitters are crabby world-weary kind of ladies. They have seen it all. They have measured it all. They are barely interested in you. They are not in a hurry. But, they have the goods, baby. They measure you, look at you and they come back with a bra, a really great bra that fits. And then they tell you how to get into the bra. (Think you know? Been wearing a bra for 38 years? Hah.) Of course, I won’t go into details about that procedure. You girls can e-mail me for further instrux. Anyway …

A little special arranging and suddenly you are looking at the new you, you with a new foundation. Curvy you! and is that my waistline? What good posture I now have! Wee! The fitters check it out and if it is working, they bring you a big tray of bras in your size. You try on a half dozen — or however many you have the stamina to try on — make your choices and go. It feels and looks so good to have a bra that actually fits, that many women don’t want to put their old bra on ever again, so Wizard of Bras has a whole procedure where they put your old bra in a little paper bag and seal it up for you to take home and incinerate. I took them up on that and wore my silky new lifting and separating engineering wonder out of the store.

Of course, great engineering does not come cheap and great engineering with lace will really set you back. And frankly, once you put on a bra that really fits, you know that whole drawer full of Bras of Christmas Past is essentially useless. “Like wearing pajamas on the street,” said Laurie as she put her old bra back on. So, it’s not like you’re going to get out of the Wizard of Bras with one inexpensive bra … or even two. In my zebra-striped bag: four — three plain, one fancy — plus the one I was wearing. $300 poorer, but 100% less potato-y, I am satisfied it is money well spent. They are built to last.

I told Val by phone that I spent the $300 on the field trip. “Woo” he said.

“I know,” I started apologetically, “They’re great though …”

“No, I mean ‘Woo’ good.” he said, “like Wooo.” He said trailing the ooo up into an admiring laugh.

He rocks. And Toto, there’s no place like home!