Friday, May 28, 2010

Busty Move

At least twice a week I eat lunch at the bar in the restaurant where I work (as an event planner). My coworker and I wait until 2:30pm to take our seats when the lunch crowd is dwindling and there are only a handful of suits left at the bar alternating between blinking Blackberries and mid-day cocktails. It makes for great people watching.

On Monday I was enjoying a delectable lunch (roasted chicken with ramps and morels) when an attractive Asian woman took a seat across from me at the bar. Two giant breasts, not at all proportional to her small frame, spilled out of the collar of her wrap dress. She practically propped them onto the bar. I looked. The entire restaurant looked. It was hard not to.

She was meeting a man. I eavesdropped. They chatted business/finance. She sounded smart. She had a loud unself-conscience laugh and used it generously. After about three minutes of observation, I decided that I liked her. She was undeniably comfortable in her skin. Her cleavage and easy laugh commanded the room. Men were drooling. Jealous women rolled their eyes. Good for her.

I sized up my own chest. Not too big or small, I've always been satisfied with the size of my "girls." They arrived relatively early when I was about 11. I remember a Sunday morning in the 5th grade sitting at the breakfast table with my older brother and a handful of his friends who had slept over. I was wearing my pajamas- a white T-shirt and boxer shorts.

"Nana (my nickname), when did you get boobs?" my brother proclaimed. His 18-year-old friends erupted in laughter. I turned magenta and stormed out. I wore a sports bra and tank top under my school uniform the next day. I wasn't ready for boobs.

Eventually, I discovered their power. In college, I showcased them often, playing up my cleavage with spaghetti straps and push up bras. But it's been a while since I've really worked them. The busty woman at the bar inspired a shopping trip. After all, few things perk me up like buying new cutesy unders.

First stop, Victoria's Secret. With help from Daphne, "fit specialist" and apparently new best friend, I took two of their heavily advertised new bras to the fitting room: The BioFit and The Miraculous. The Miraculous promises a 2-cup upgrade. I was intrigued, a $48 boob job. I strapped it on and burst into laughter. Daphne asked if I was OK.

"I'm Dolly Parton," I answered, cleavage inches away from my chin.

Thanks to about two inches of gel padding my chest looked like an apple bottom.

The BioFit, a bra that can be worn 7 different ways, seemed more my speed. I wiggled into it and started to test the options: strapless, across one shoulder, halter, racer back and 3 ridiculously impractical crisscross patterns that Daphne (who's now standing virtually on top of me in the fitting room) was eager to show. She snapped and tugged me into each of the 7 "revolutionary" options, at one point literally picking up my breasts to "maximize bombshell cleavage." Despite the invasion of space, I loved my new best friend Daphne and consequently shelled out 50 bucks for a new bra.



Later that night, I "wore" my boobs out. Whether it was the cleavage or the little boost of confidence it gave me, I seemed to get some extra attention that night. Men are predictable. Then again, I'm not breaking down any stereotypes by working my chest.

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