May 6th, 2010
My mom is in town from Charleston, South Carolina for Mother's Day. Ya know.. to spend a little time with the blogger that came out of her body.
In just a few hours, we've voyaged to Coney Island, eaten like people much fatter than we are and partook in an activity that is unquestionably exclusive to New York. Bra buying. Mom wants the best for me so I'm inclined to hypothesize that her mindset is the following: "No daughter of mine will have a sub par displayed boobage."
Earlier today, we paid a visit to a boutique Brooklyn lingerie store and a stunning strapless bra caught my attention. I took it to the dressing room, tried it on and called in the only person who I could trust to analyze my chest display with an honest yay or nay. No. Not mom...the youngish attractive woman who worked at the store of negligees and male fantasies.
Here's the thing...when purchasing bras, any inkling of modesty goes out the window. I was in no way, shape or form((fitting) bashful that a stranger was rather intimately lifting and separating my boobs. While I was being molested, I became disappointed that her hands were occupied because she earned herself a high five for her strong aptitude for arranging the mystical world of mammary glands.
And now...a segue...
One of the most TITillating bra buying excursions that I've experienced (since puberty gave me 2 additional body parts) was visiting Orchard Corset on the Lower East Side. Ralph Berk, the shop's middle-aged Orthodox Jew proprietor, has an unprecedented talent and accuracy for sizing up the ta-ta size of fully clothed women. With one glance, he handed me the perfect bra that inspired me to say, "I'm proud to be a woman today!" I would highly recommend that Berk open up a brother store down the street. Orchard Jock Straps.
Note to Victoria's Secret employees. This guy(who I assume is Yentle's father) is the Ivy League to your community college. Keep your day job. Oh that is your day job? I am ashamed.