Curse of Big Boobs Bras

HS has just been properly measured for bra size in M&S. Her boobs are now officially 2 sizes larger than she thought. Personally, having never wanted to get this kind of shock I have never had this done. So now she has to purchase appropriately-sized underwear which in its self is a terrifying prospect but when you suddenly realise you are now an E cup and have to wave goodbye to delicate sexy ruffly ribbony numbers in exchange for industrial strength elastic and straps you could bungee with that hang next to the gigantic granny armpit knickers, its a sorrowful day indeed. No more flighty brassieres in diaphanous fabric from which your flesh seductively escapes. Into the constructed, firm support, total cover up bras that mould you to fit their form (a form that was invented by an anal retentive in the 1950s) - let nothing escape, let not a single vibration rock the bossom of the wearer. Put a lemon yellow twinset over your angular and firm chest and go forever like a figurehead arriving first on all occassions. Or in search of something less structured and constricting you find yourself in lingerie departments with those shop assistants who are like your mum - bursting into the cubicle while you are still top-naked asking if you need any help, tweaking your straps, adjusting your breast in the cup, aligning the back and cooing at the fit before you have the opportunity to shriek, "get out get out, did I say I needed help?", and having failed in the first instance to get a grip on the curtain resigning yourself to the fact that since she has now seen all you may as well allow yourself to be womanhandled as well.