I Bought New Underwear for My Boobess
I wish I were one of those women who can stroll into a lingerie shop and whip a few bits of lace off a hanger. My chesticles are more of the bombastic variety and finding a receptacle for them is akin to trying to bag two piglets. After a year of denial, I finally accepted that I had put on weight and needed new underwear, so Joyce, my kindly sister-in-law, offered to head to the nearest large town with me on a girlie underwear-buying session.
The shopping centre was nearly empty. Ireland is in the depths of a dark recession and shopping as a recreational sport - previously an Olympic discipline in boomtime Ireland - has taken a nosedive. That's the reason why the young Polish shop assistant in the fancy lingerie shop was thrilled to see me when I walked through the door.
"It's very quiet out there," I said, indicating the silent concourse, where tumbleweeds blew past the empty shops, the clerks leaning on the countertops, bored, or engaged in chat with their fellow workers.
"Is awful," she said earnestly. "Today most exciting thing is visit from cleaning lady."
I explained my predicament and her practised eye swept over my bosom.
"We not have your size," she said, "but I am measure you anyway. Okay? Then you go department store and buy there."
"Do you mind?" I asked.
"Nothing to do," she said and shrugged.
In we went to the cubicle and she whipped out a measuring tape.
"This bra all wrong," she said, "You are have four boobess because too small. You want two boobess."
She held up two fingers. I nodded. Yes, indeedy. Two boobess would be preferable.
"Important with bra is," she said, "must separate boobess - " she made an elegant sweeping motion, like Moses parting the Red Sea, " - and also to keep down."
With that, she patted the air energetically. I understood immediately. Those of you who are generously endowed know how spooky it is to have your boobess try to sneak up and smother you.
She worked out my size and sent me on my way, after giving me a little lesson on style ("Lace look very nice, but here this grandma style ugly but much better under t-shirt") and form ("This pretty but make uni-boobess, remember we want to separate.") Armed with this knowledge, I went next door and bought half-a-dozen miracles of engineering and then popped in to show her my purchases.
"Very good!" she said, beaming. And, distressingly, added: "Good luck!"
With my chest, I probably need it. But for now, I think I have the girls under control.