By Marian Kelly

Globe guest columnist

I love capitalism. I find it inspiring that a free market regulates itself, allowing good products to find a following, and bad ones to die of their own weight - except when a favorite product of mine is phased out, and then it really makes me mad.

They quit making my bra.

Now, before you accuse me of choosing inappropriate subject matter, please consider that you can see advertisements for bras in everything from magazines to TV ads, so it's not like I'm helping anyone discover them for the first time.

I would also point out that, for aesthetics' sake, it is generally better to see a woman with a bra than without one - this woman in particular. While both heredity and the passage of time have had their say in the formation of my silhouette, the only flattering remarks have been made by Playtex.

I wear an unusual size in bras. The actual number and letter are none of your business, but I will say that if a woman's bust measurement is more than 38, she is assumed by the bra industry to be at least a C cup. No matter what my circumference, I have never been more than a B, which makes bra shopping a constant struggle to make mountains out of molehills.

If a bra style fits my bust measurement, then I tend to have way too much room in the cup. Not only is it physically uncomfortable to have enough leftover space for a handkerchief, a compact and a toy poodle, but the appearance is unbecoming at best - think deflated helium balloons.

If, on the other hand, the cup fits, then the bra is too tight and I need an "extender" so that I can breathe. (For male readers, an extender is much like an extension cord for an electrical appliance, in that it has holes on one end and prongs on the other, and if it becomes overloaded, it will burst into flames.) The extender is an imperfect solution at best, since it moves the straps farther apart, causing them to periodically fall off one's shoulders. (Men who think they have seen their women shivering with happiness were actually witnessing a bra-strap meltdown in progress.)

Three years ago, I found the perfect bra. It was called "Support Can Be Beautiful," and it was the definitive blend of comfort and structure. I had eight of them, one for every day of the week and one extra. When they began to wear out, I reached for my trusty catalog to order eight more, but they weren't there. I called the mail-order company and learned they had been discontinued. I was in a panic now - only one bra had ever fit in my entire adult life, and now it didn't exist? What kind of sick joke was this?

Over the next year I tried on dozens of brands and styles in my quest for the ideal brassiere. I paid ungodly prices to specialty stores for bras that were technically the correct size, but fit like bamboo scaffolding. I decided that when the last strand of Spandex went in my last bra, I was going to go native, and them as didn't like it could lump it, so to speak.

Then, while returning from a speaking engagement, I stumbled across a bra store in an outlet mall. Although I didn't harbor the least hope of rescue, I needed a break from driving, so I explained my cup size dilemma to the saleswoman, who brought me three styles to try on. All of them were C cups, but as she explained, "The cut of the bra gives the extra fabric somewhere to go" (meaning, I suppose, that my armpits were fully supported).

Danged if she wasn't right. Not only do the bras fit, they are reasonably priced, and to top it off, are available at my local large-chain discount store. I haven't been this happy since "Law & Order" went into daily reruns on TNT.

I've learned my lesson, though. I buy my bras more often now so I won't be caught off-guard. And I'm working out strategies in case any of my other favorite products become extinct. By the way, do you know how many pints of Ben & Jerry's Coffee Almond Fudge Ice Cream will fit into a 30-cubic-foot deep freeze?

I do.

Marian Kelly is a comedian, motivational speaker and writer. She lives in Seneca.