The quest is finally over!

Prelude: This post is about boobs. My boobs.

I didn't develop at an unusual age-I pretty much blossomed right along with my friends. Except, my boobs kept getting bigger and didn't stop until after I had the Chicken. I always used to read about girls who had animosity towards their chest, I wouldn't describe my feelings as animosity. No, I loved my boobs. I embraced them and put them up on a pedestal (ha!). If they'd had Girls Gone Wild on South Beach when I was actually old enough to be on GGW, I would totally be in one of those videos right now. (The early stages of GGW, people! Not the gross versions now where girls are making out, naked in the shower.) For all the love I've had for my breasts, I hate bras. Rather, bras hate me. I've never found a bra to fit me properly. In fact, I'm not even sure of my own bra size!
Go for a fitting, you say? Yeah, can't do that. See, I have an adversity to strangers feeling me up. Oh sure, I've tried to have fittings but every time I go to the fancy department store (read: not Target), the boobie "specialist" was either "training" (which my boobs are not) or just plain creeped me out. My friend, Stacey, has gone bra shopping with me but finding a great bra is like finding the perfect pair of ass jeans. Just not happening for me. Instead of bearing through the dreadful fitting, I continue to buy cheap, ill-fitting bras from Target.
Until last weekend. I bought several cheap (read: clearance!) bras from Wal Mart (ha!) that actually fit. Ok, so they sort of enhance the back fat but that's no thing a little camisole can't conceal. This is big news, folks!
And even though I seem to have found the perfect bras, I know there's lots of you out there with similar issues. What do you do?