It started
with Liz's bosom.
It was
spectacular.
"Your
boobs," I gasped from across the table. "They look...amazing."
"It's this
bra," she whispered conspiratorially, revealing a scalloped edge of a nude fabric
that peeked out from under her pink Oxford cloth shirt dress. Toasting This Bra,
we polished off a bottle of wine (each) and found ourselves at a familiar,
grubby bar. It seemed important at the time to document effect of This Bra in a
photo booth - my modest, unassuming bosom juxtaposed against Liz's buxom Guess ad
glory.
The
pictures were the evidence I couldn't ignore: it was time to replace my limp,
frayed disgrace with something along the lines of This Bra. Very few things can
propel me to shop for lingerie - being impaled by my own bra is one of
them.
* * *
At
Victoria's Secret, I peek out of the dressing room to attract the attention of a
salesgirl, who is chatting away to her friend.
"Is there
anything I can try on that doesn't already have boobs in
it?"
The girl
strides over, snapping a measuring tape from around her neck.
"Have you
been measured?"
"No, I've
always been a--"
But she is
already measuring me, manhandling my chest with all the authority and efficiency
of a head nurse. I try in vain to retain my dignity, but I am suddenly whisked
back to the memory of my first bra trial at Bloomingdale's, where I was poked,
prodded, and assessed to the point of humiliation.
Clutching
my shirt to my chest, I venture, "Seriously, I just need a bra
that--"
"What's
wrong with the one you have on? It looks good!"
"Well, I
think it's a bit too..." I do a Dolly Parton impersonation, which for me is a
first.
"No, it's
good," says the friend of the salesgirl, who, to my consternation, in now
peering into the dressing room in which I am cowering.
"She look
good, right?" says the salesgirl to her friend.
"Yeah!" she
replies. "She's all goin' into work with her boobies lookin' like
BAM!" She sticks out her chest proudly.
We all
laugh. I assure them that my boobies have never gone BAM! in their entire
lives.
But I buy
the bra. How could I not? Everyone wants to go BAM! once in a
while.*
*But not at at the office, unless you work for Donald Draper, in which case GO FOR YOURS.