A Fiona Moment

OK, first of all, this is more a story for girls, I think, so if you are a girl, read on. If you are a boy, how the fuck would I know if you're reading this or not, so, whatever.

So anyway, I washed all my cute new shirts that I got in NY today, threw them in the dryer so they would be all, uh, you know, clean and stuff. And you know how it is when you wash new clothes for the first time, you can't wait to try them on. And the thing is, I did not try these shirts on in the dressing room at the store. I didn't have time for that, see, but they looked about right so I just bought them. Sometimes I like to live dangerously like that. Sometimes I am like the Steve Irwin of apparel purchasing.

So, I pull them out of the dryer and decide to try on my favorite one first. It's a cap-sleeve white t-shirt with aqua-colored sleeves, and the front is printed all over with little aqua monkey head faces. They kinda look like Bobby Jack faces, which was the whole reason I bought it in the first place (because Fiona and Jessica love Bobby Jack clothes, and I wanted to be twins with them--or I guess it would be more like a triplet with them or something).

Anyway, before we get to the actual part where I try on the shirt, I have to tell another story which relates to this main story. It's kind of a pig-in-a-blanket situation. I have this littler story (which I am about to tell--this is the little hot dog part) which is wrapped inside the bigger, main story, which is the biscuit.

So, the hot dog part of the situation is that a couple weeks ago, I did something both completely extravagant (in my book anyway, which isn't saying much) and yet completely necessary. I went to Victoria's Secret and bought 4 bras, all at the same time, together, and they weren't even really on sale or anything. The last time I bought bras was when Clinton was still president, and I went to Penney's and bought a couple old lady bras that were 2-for-1, which also came with a mail-in offer for ANOTHER bra (same style, same size), so it was really more like 3-for-1, and I felt very proud of myself for spending 20 dollars on 3 bras. It doesn't take much, I guess. (Actually, now that I think about it, this whole "Penneys aside" is almost like another story within the hot dog. Maybe this is a cheese-filled pig in a blanket.)

So, back to Victoria's Secret, aka the hot dog, not only did I purchase 4 bras in one sitting (?) at what could arguably be called "full price," but I went for the push-up kind. It was funny. The tags on the bras said "Very Sexy" on them. Just like that. Them Victoria's Secret people, they don't mince words. They had other sections of the store divided up according to varying levels of sexiness. Although I can't exactly remember the verbiage posted above each type of bra, it was something like, "Minimally Sexy," "Sort of Sexy," "Mostly Sexy," and so on. Or at least that was my impression. And what red-blooded American woman would choose anything but "Very Sexy," is what I'd like to know. "It's not your full effort unless you give 110%, or perhaps you are a commie," the bra seemed to say.

So I tried an assortment of these sexy bras on, sampling from all different levels of sexiness, and the "Very Sexy" push-up bra was the winner. Ding ding ding! These colors don't run! You see, I remember back in the day, before bearing children and sustaining their life via my boobs, what it was like to look at myself in the mirror and see my nipples looking back at me. They seemed to say, "Hello there, Paula. You're looking swell today." And then one day, many years later, I looked in the mirror again at myself, and said "Hello there, nipples," and they didn't answer me because they were too busy looking at the interesting pattern of the bathroom floor tiles. They just stopped caring.

And so that day in the Victoria's Secret fitting room, I put the girls back in their place, so to speak. I put my shirt on over them and turned sideways. The effect was astounding, and I immediately went back out into the store and picked out 3 more bras to take home.

The next couple of days after that I went through, let's just say, a period of adjustment. For example, I sat down on the couch to read for a little bit, and as I opened my book, there was a moment of slight astonishment as I looked down and...there they were. A gleeful thrill came over me, because I had to hold my book out a little farther than usual. They were almost in the way.

(This concludes the hot dog portion of the story. Now, onto the biscuit.)

So, like I said, I didn't try this monkeyhead shirt on before I bought it, and as soon as I pull it out of the dryer I try it on. Fiona and Jessica are with me, and Jeff is in the living room. I pull the shirt on over my head and down over my torso, and notice with distaste that it is tight. As in "skintight." Did it shrink in the wash? Dammit. (I'm not a fan of tight shirts. They make me feel like I have to hold my stomach up all day, and that can be a drag.) I go into the bathroom, all the while thinking that this shirt will be ending up in the goodwill bag, and when I see myself in the mirror, I bust out (ha ha) laughing. I immediately think of Taki from Soul Caliber for Nintendo...you know, those anime chicks with the big racks. I'm howling in the bathroom, the girls are telling me how cute I am, and then Jeff walks in.

I holler to him something like, "Check this shit out," and start laughing all over again. He replies something along the lines of, "That's a really really nice shirt you have there," and "I am enjoying this particular moment of looking at you with that shirt on,"or something like that.

(One more aside: I spend several hours each day at a community college in music class, and naturally, most of the people in my class are the appropriate college age of somewhere around early 20ish. This includes the males in the class. There is a particular 20ish-type male who thinks he's Zoroastrian's gift to the ladies, if you know what I mean, notwithstanding the fact that he's a total knob. He has tried his moves on me more than once, which includes saying things like, "You want me, don't you?" And, "Hey, when are you gonna flash me?" And, "Damn, you're hot." He's THAT smooth. In the interest of protecting his anonymity, I will be referring to him as "Knob.")

So, there's this little scene happening in the bathroom involving my freaking out over my Very Sexy boobs. Jeff and the girls are all telling me "Oh my god, that's the cutest shirt EVER!" So, I decide to keep the monkeyhead shirt, and hang it in the closet.

And I guess this pig-in-a-blanket must be eaten with ketchup if it's to be done proper, so here comes the ketchup part, supplied by Fiona.

Me (hanging up shirt): OK, I guess I'll keep it.

Jeff/Fiona/Jessica: It's so cute on you!

Me: Yes, I suppose it would be fun to wear it to school someday and watch Knob totally freak out.

Fiona: YEAH!!! Is that because Knob really likes monkeys?

Me: Yep. He sure does. He really really likes monkeys.