Tuesday, September 14, 2010


Kate and I are speechless. We’re having french fries and wine after our volunteer meeting listening to Wynn tell us her bra size. “What? I’m a B cup,” Wynn assures. Kate and I look at each other, then at Wynn’s chest. “There is NO possible way I wear a bigger size than you! You are bigger than a B,” I insist. “It’s because I’m short my boobs look big,” Wynn redirects. Again Kate and I exchange glances. Without being crass, the three of us are in the “breastly way”. None of us can consider going into public braless.

"Want me to take my bra off and show my size?” Wynn offers. Even though we’re in a French bistro, I feel that being half naked is still inappropriate and say, “No. I don’t want you to do that. And I believe you think you’re a B.” Kate nods. Wynn rolls her eyes and points at our chests, “Sorry to shatter your bubbles, but neither of you are really that big." She shakes her head and continues, “Just like for men, size matters and women want to be big. Don’t you think those fancy bra makers are just flattering the client. There is nothing wrong JC Penney and Sears bras.” Clearly she has recently left the island because there is no Sears in Manhattan. “Well I will take whatever flattery I can get, but this has nothing to with that. The girls need support and high-end bras are worth the money. You need to be sized by a professional,” I argue. “Yeah, well I am not wearing any old lady bras,” Wynn warns. Kate picks up her wine and looks the other way. She doesn’t want to tell Wynn that when complete coverage is required, sometimes fashion has to go out with the way of the do-do bird.

“We'll go to Bra Smythe and find something you can tolerate,” I suggest kindly. Kate nods. “I have plenty of nice bras,” Wynn argues one last time. With a hefty sigh, I finally get tough love with Wynn and say, “But your bras don’t fit you.” “Agreed,” Kate says excitedly and then adds, “We can do brunch! I’ll even find a place! A weekend without brunch is sad!" “Bacon and bras works for me! Wynn, what about you?” I ask. She shrugs in defeat and says, “I don’t know how you bitches can eat brunch every week and stay slim.” “Wynn, you will feel so sexy once you get into the right intimates,” I promise and raise my glass, “Let’s toast to securing the jugglies!” Kate and Wynn raise their glasses. We get looks from the people at the next table but don’t care. I wonder if men get excited to shop for jock straps. “And Bloomingdales! Let’s go there, too!” Kate squeals.

They had me at bras and brunch, but the addition of Bloomingdales, the mother ship that calls me home, seals the deal. My inner Barbie is hot pink and ready to shop Manhattan style!

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