Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Just Bras...

Yesterday while I was researching the contentious position of lady’s undergarments in post-colonial but the pre-industrial Canary Islands I read a statistic that shocked me. A nameless statistician claimed that 80% of women do not wear the correct size bra. In response to this news, I decided to tromp down to a lingerie store to uncover the rest of the story.

As I headed into the first lingerie store I spotted, I held my pen and paper tightly in hand so that I could record the responses to my provocative questions. I immediately went up to the woman at the counter and launched in to my first question, “How many of the women who come into the store each day come in looking for just bras?” She looked at me surprised both by my tenor of question and by my question itself. She pointed at the store’s inventory located behind me and remarked, “The store is called ‘Just Bras.’ Since all we sell are bras everyone who comes into the store is looking for juts a bra.” I responded sheepishly, “Oh, right. That makes sense.”

A little more self-conscious but still resolute I continued onward with my original line of questioning. “Of all those women who come in for ‘just a bra’ how many ask to be fitted by a bra specialist?” She replied to my question with a look bordering on disgust, “None. Cherise gets to them before they think to ask for assistance.” She then continued, “I think you should talk to Cherise directly. She can answer all of your questions.” I asked her where I might find the famed Cherise and she pointed me toward the dressing room.

As I approached I could see a towering woman standing 6 feet tall in flats. Slightly intimidated I walked up to her with my questions in hand. However, before I could utter a single word she looked at my chest and waved her hand back and forth with the flourish of a drama student. She remarked in my direction, “Oh no, that will NOT do. Come here sweetie, we need to fix you up.” I looked in front and behind me expecting to see a 14 year old that might answer to the name “Sweetie” but to my chagrin I was the only customer who stood within shouting distance of Cherise’s barb.

I immediately regained my composure and responded in my best Robert De Niro voice, “Are you talking to me?” She did not see the irony in my remark or in my paltry imitation and she responded to my questions very sincerely, “Yes. You really need some help. That bra will not do. Your boobs are way to low. Come with me.”

Within seconds Cherise shuffled me into a change room and asked me to remove my shirt. As I disrobed she returned with a tape measure and placed the tape measure over, under, and around my breasts. Once she finished this banal ritual she left the room. I remained stock-still waiting for her return because I was unsure how she might react if I tried to put my shirt back on.

When Cherise returned she handed me one purple and two hot pink bras. She must have seen me look at the bras suspiciously because she said, “Don’t worry, you can pick out your own colors these are just to assess if we have the right size.” As I held the first bra aloft I remarked, “If you caught the right wind you could really set sail with this thing.” She did not laugh. She then told me to put on the first bra. She remained in the change room but did have the courtesy to turn her back to me. She said, “I am turning my back to give you a little privacy.” I gritted my teeth and thanked her for her consideration.

Once I successfully put the first bra on I informed Cherise that she could turn around. As soon as she turned to look at me she stood in front of me, behind me, and to the side of me appraising the fit of the bra. Her facial expression indicated a certain level of bemusement at the manner in which I put the bra on. Without warning or explanation she reached out her sizable hands and pulled at the excess skin on my arms, back, chest, and stomach. As she poked and propped she repeated the mantra, “This is booby. This is booby. This is booby.” I was so flummoxed by her deft hand maneuvers that it was well after the fact that I realized she had been to a place that only a few pre-TW people had been and I did not even think to introduce myself to her.

Once the bra was fitted to Cherise’s liking she told me to look in the mirror. Since she seemed to be waiting expectantly for my reaction all I could think to say was, “Geez Batman, I didn’t know I had so much booby.” Again, she remained unmoved.

5 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

So? Did you buy a bra? Did it change your life? Is it hot pink or is it purple?

Amber

7:57 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yeah, and how did the size she picked match up with the size you usually wear?

8:01 PM  
Blogger Little G said...

Yes, yes, yes. I bought a fuschia bra - to my surprise it looked good with my skin tone. As for the size - let's just say I was off by a good number of inches. Cherise is the bra fitting man.

Little G

8:09 PM  
Blogger Logical Philosopher said...

Is Cherise the bra fitting man? or woman? Hmmmm... I wonder what she would do with really fat men...

This whole story seems like a Sienfield episode in the making.

8:59 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

OMG you did NOT say "Gee, Batman..." LOL!!!!!

5:04 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home

site stats