Friday, June 7, 2002
There is a first (and last) time for everything.
I am 36 years old and the other day "the bride" and I entered a boutique for unmentionables, for me, it was the very first time.
As we were browsing the various selections of sausage casings, push up bras and thongs, I realized why I have never gone into one of these places before.
What sadist invented these things? Each rack was filled with various torture devices, promising to mold, tuck, and generally contorting your body into some sort of ideal shape. That is, if you didn't mind sacrificing a little thing called "breathing".
I was contemplating one such item, trying to decide just how long I could possibly hold my breath without taking a header into the punch bowl, when "the bride" called me in to view her first selection.
She had asked the lady for something to hold in, and push up. What she got was ...........I can't describe it...but it wasn't push up. It was more�.squish flat, clearly NOT what we were going for.
I suggested "bustier". The lady took one look at me and decided I was not the one to give advise. (I had just come from work and I wasn't even wearing a bra). So I went to the rack myself and picked one out. I mean really, any self respecting child of the 80's knows (thanks to Madonna) that hold in + push up = bustier.
All of a sudden the sales lady decides this is exactly what she needs to have and would have suggested earlier if "the bride" had made herself more clear. (groan) So, "the bride" takes the bustier into the dressing room, and I join her with the vegetable shortening and a shoehorn and we manage to get this contraption on her. She turns around to face me and���..
"HOLY SHIT, BE CAREFULL, you could put an eye out with those things." We had a winner.
Now I am thinking, I want tits like that too. And in the grand scheme of things, breathing is really overrated.