My Photo
Location: PDX, United States

Friday, July 28, 2006

Size Matters

Sorry gentlemen. This entry is about bras. But just in case you’re wondering, the answer is yes. In my mind, the question “does size matter?” falls into the “do I look fat?” category of questions. If you have to ask, you’ve already incriminated yourself, and if you’re asking a friend or a lover, they can be honest and hurt your feelings, or lie and appease you.When men have asked me if size matters, I have always told them the truth...if you are an asshole and on the small side, it's realistic to expect that information has been shared.

But back to bras. A. , her daughter S. and I were out shopping the other day. A. needed a new bra, and I decided to take advantage of our visit to the Nordstrom’s lingerie department and get measured. Someone told me a while ago that Oprah had a whole show devoted to “bra interventions”. She claimed 85% of women were wearing the wrong bra size.

I found a nice woman to measure me. She can help me get dressed any day. It felt really luxurious to have someone put bras on for me. She was very thorough, and had me bend over to make sure they fit properly. Sure enough, she said I was wearing the wrong bra size, and pronounced me a 32 DDD instead of a 34 D. I was stunned. I didn’t like the way it sounded. It’s a really hard size to find, and the bras aren’t any fun. They’re full coverage, no nonsense affairs. I found a pink bra slightly better than the offensive mom bras she brought in, and despite everything, I really liked the way it felt.

A. decided to get measured as well and found herself a 32 D instead of a 34 B. She was similarly shocked, but really liked the bra our measurer found her. We bought our bras and moved onto Macy's. A. had to buy a wedding present for her father in law. We decided that while she shopped, I should go get measured, just to see if another bra expert shared the opinion of the first one. We love comparisons, and used to administer the Pepsi Challenge at parties when we were kids.

The Macy’s lingerie department is much larger than Nordstrom’s. They have a wider selection of bras, and everyone knows about their “Buy One, Get One Free” bi-annual bra sales. Despite this, the department was a ghost town, and not just in terms of customers. It took me awhile to locate a sales person, and she looked really inconvenienced when I asked her to measure me. We went into a dressing room, and I started to take of my shirt. She stopped me and told me they didn’t do it like that there. I felt embarrassed, as if I’d done something really inappropriate.

She measured me, taking all of 20 seconds to do so, and told me I was a 36 C. I raced off to find A. and share this inconsistency. I found myself pleased the sales person had done such a half assed job, and seemed to have a fear of breasts. It made a better story.


Labels: ,

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Eat Her Heart Out

Today I remembered a dream I had about 13 years ago. A couple of friends of mine and I ate my grandmother’s heart. This weighed pretty heavily on me, not so much because of what I’d done, but because I hadn’t done it alone. I would have to trust my friends to keep this secret for the rest of their lives.

I finally broke down and told my father what I had done. He was astonishingly understanding, assuring me that everyone did something like that at least once in their lives. He told me not to worry about it.
Remembrance of Things Past_, Dream On_, Bon Appetit_


Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Words That Embarrass Me

bI’ve been really easily irritated this week. It just doesn’t take much to get me worked up about things that really aren’t a big deal, like words that make me cringe.

My guess is that we all have words we don’t like to say, and that many of us share an aversion to the same words, like fanny, pantyhose and slacks. Am I right?

Of course there are words for foods that really get on my nerves, like home fries. That word and concept emerged out of the blue and onto the breakast plate sometime maybe in the early 90’s, replacing the perfectly respectable hash brown. They aren’t bad, they just aren’t as good as hash browns. And since they’re only served in restaurants, they’re inaccurately named. If I order a breakfast and home fries are one of the options I can choose from, I avoid saying the word and say that I’ll have the potatoes.

Then there are smoothies. Saying that word out loud makes me feel gross. It’s a sleazy word, when you think about it. Additionally, smoothies are guilty of being part of a food trend, though the trend has fortunately already seen its peak.

A food trend still going strong is the panini craze. I saw an ad for a panini sandwich the other day that made me crazy. Panini means sandwich! Panini sandwich is redundant. And panini isn’t even the right word, unless you are referring to more than one. We should really call a panini a panino. But why can’t we just call it a grilled sandwich? We aren’t in Italy and the ingredients in them are rarely classically Italian.

Judgments_,Bon Appetit_

Labels: ,