Tuesday, May 05, 2015


Friday we ventured out into the cold to go bra shopping. This was more for her and less for me, since I’m pretty fussed on my vintage corselet and the world can be damned if they don’t like it. However, I haven’t been bra shopping, ever, so I figured it would be at least fun for finding out what that was all about.

Of course, it was freezing, far too freezing to really want to leave the apartment, but armed in a thousand scarves and our coats we hit the buses and the trains to get to the place that would put our boobs in bras. Of course since it was at least ten nipples below a reasonable temperature I started us walking in the wrong direction at least three times, and finally we had to stop in an American Apparel to warm up and for me to allow my phone to warm up enough to find the place were looking for. Even with the stopping and starting we made it in time for our bra-fitting appointments, though part of my brain when we arrived was still in the American Apparel trying to figure out why people pay 50 dollars for half a shirt.

The bras were not that much cheaper. The clothing in the place was pretty enough and I took in a look and then settled happily into my book while we waited for someone to come get us.

“This really is my favorite place to get bras; they make the best bras.”

I really have very little to add to this conversation. Two very nice women came to grab us for our bra fitting and put us into separate rooms. I could hear the Artist chatting with her girl, while mine talked to me.

“I’m really probably not going to find what I need here.”

“Are you sure? We have something for everyone.”

I explained the crux of my problem and she was able to understand.

“Yes, the women I have met who like the full-body experience really don’t tend to like much else. But let’s try anyway?”


“Do you want to step out so you can put on the robe?”

I mostly just laughed and took off my clothes. This part I have down. Those years of living on couches and in full exposure had served their role to make me much less body shy. Clothes, no clothes, whatever.

She took a few minutes looking and then stepped out and came back with some bras, which she offered to have me try on, then she left again.

I tried on one and had the immediate “nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope” reaction  and took it off. I waited for her to come back, but figured I was supposed to work these things out on my own.

I put my corselet back on by the time she came back in.

“Anything working for you?”

“Nope. But thank you, this was fun.”

I finished my book while I waited for the Artist. She was very pleased with her bra consultant and invited me in for the end where I gave my opinions on which bras she should buy and managed to restrain myself from mauling her in the fitting room. She got three new bras and I got to check her out in three new bras, so everyone was a winner.

It was still cold when we were released into New York.

We took a cab home and a made a giant pile of fajitas for dinner.

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