Boobs, original and fake

Posted on April 19, 2006


Instead of working on my final essay today, I went shopping with my roommate. A more inappropriate course of action cannot be imagined, since both of us are pressed for time and she is as poor as a church mouse (and owes me money).
In one store, I tried on this drapey silver top with no back. I love drapey tops with no back, and resolutely try them on even though I am physically ill-equipped to wear them. To wit: I have bazongas. Thusly, I cannot wear backless shirts because I have to wear a bra which would show. It is my contention that such shirts are in fact sexist, as they seem to be promoting an anti-woman agenda. Who are those designers to humiliate and inconvenience normal females by making them feel they should have the anatomy of twelve year old boys? Kiss my ass.
ANYWAY. So I came out of the changing room with this top on and the guy who was helping me asked if it was all right. In ire I said, “It would have been all right, if I didn’t have breasts.” Without the slightest sign of having heard me he asked if he should go get me another size and scurried off, even as I shouted after him that the size obviously made no difference. Maybe he was trying to get away from the crazy woman who was talking about her breasts? Maybe his glassy expression just hid his extreme discomfort.
Later on I was at a nail salon getting a nail fixed. Over the dude’s head I watched the TV, where some sort of Asian beauty pageant was going on. I was just mentally commenting to myself that these women looked unusually curvaceous for the standards of 2006 when another employee said to me, “You know they were men? Ya, operation.” Fascinated, I looked back. “All of them?”
They were all totally hott. In no way did I see a sign of any masculine attribute. We all watched companionably commenting on who had the best hair, while they gave me background on what is apparently Thailand’s greatest attraction. I was also led to believe that the guy who was doing my nails was actually a pre-op transgender himself, but judging from his protest (certainly there was no visible indicator to lend support) this may have been a joke. Those of you who know me will know that I have absolutely zero ability to identify jokes. I make them all the time, but other peoples’ are completely wasted on me. Instead I’m all like ‘Really? That’s so cool!” in response to outlandish tales of every sort that only a fool would believe.
Finally coming to my senses out of my shopping haze, I realized that I could not meet my boyfriend as planned because otherwise I wouldn’t have time to finish my paper before it was due, and I told him so.
“Actually, we weren’t supposed to hang out tonight.”
“Why, isn’t today Wednesday?”
“No, it’s Tuesday.”
“That’s great news! It gives me a whole extra day to finish my paper! Oh, what a relief! Don’t you love it when you gain a day like that?”
“You mean you thought today was Wednesday and you still wasted the whole day shopping even though you’re leaving to Calgary on Thursday night for ten days and we weren’t going to see each other before you left? That’s terrible!” Terrible is M’s most serious rebuke. He uses it where I would use the phrase “you’re such an asshole”.
“I would have found a way somehow to fit it all in…”
And now here I am blogging, twenty unread cases and a highlighter piled by my keyboard. I’m really capitalizing on this free day.