A for Effort

I got out of the shower and went to get dressed the other day. It was there, in front of my closet that I ran into a problem. I knew it was coming, I knew it was happening, I've been sticking my head in the sand for a while, pretending that it's all okay. But there it was, right there in the mirror, staring back at me.

My bras don't fit me anymore. I thought about stuffing some tissues into the giant cavern of space between bra and boob. I returned to the bathroom, with that single-minded purpose. I gathered my wits together, sighed, and grabbed for the extra soft 3-ply with lotion...and realized I had an empty box. Damn. I thought about the old blonde joke with the Kleenex® boxes and her bra, and remembered that for the last decade, I have mostly dyed my once blonde hair anything else.

I thought, "Maybe no one will notice if I put a shirt on over the sadly empty bra." I put on a t-shirt. It was a little tight and smashed down the empty bra cup, making it look like I had deflated and warped boobs. This was definitely not going to work. Damn. I thought some more and decided I'd give the bra the day off. But all the shirts I had clean and available at the time were were thin, light-colored and therefore, um, revealing. Not good. I dug through the very back of the shelf and found a black cami with built-in mono-boob shelf bra. Perfect!

I decided to draw attention away from my floundering breasts, so I selected a skirt, and went back yet again to the bathroom. I shaved my legs faster than the speed of light, liberally applied nice, eucalyptus-scented lotion, threw the skirt on and started digging for skirt-appropriate shoes. I found my old-standby kitten heels and was ready to go.

I drove to work and had to pay $10 for Valet parking. I justified this unnecessary expense as "necessary evil to ward off boob thieves in the night," the valet just looked at me as though I was crazy and small-chested. Oh well.

I walked into work 5 minutes late (which no one noticed), and as each member of the cast or crew arrived, they asked what the special occasion was. I wanted to say, "Oh, you know, I can't seem to fit into my B-cup from Victoria's Secret anymore because MY BOOBS ARE TOO FUCKING SMALL so I dolled myself up all nice so maybe you wouldn't notice!" but what I really said was, "Oh, you know, I was stuck in the apartment all day, cleaning up and I just was tired of feeling all gross."

One lady in the cast said to me, "You have such a nice little waist." I thought, "Yes, and little boobs too, and you know why? Because I've lost all my body fat by chasing after you backstage because your 'senior moments' keep you from remembering what you're supposed to wear when!" I smiled nonchalantly, "Oh, you know, I used to do a lot of sit-ups when Bil was training for the marathon." LIES!

At 5 minutes to places, I put my blacks on, just another backstage ninja whose primary responsibility is to remain invisible, boobs and all.

* * *

Monday, I had the day off. I decided that I needed to take care of the impending bra/boob debacle. Bil was home, so I dragged him off to Kohl's with me, ostensibly so that he could look at work clothes, but mostly for moral support.

I dove into the intimates department with gusto, determined to find the friendliest bra around. And things were on sale, which made me excited. I decided to just try a couple of non-Victoria's Secret B-cups on, just in case Victoria's Secret is wrong about their sizing.

Sadly, they are not.

I decided that I would check out the new "nearly B" size, in hopes that I hadn't lost all that much of the girls.

No such luck.

After over an hour and 25 different bras, I finally found one that worked. An A-cup. I took advantage of the sale, figured that this is how it's gonna be for a while, and bought three for the price of two. Sigh.

I remember the days when I had a C+. God, that was beautiful.

Bil buys me a milkshake later that night, in hopes that it'll go straight to my boobs. Whilst enjoying my fatty chocolatey treat, I think of Nora Mae. She's an actor I had the pleasure of working with early on in the process of Hats!. She was a late arrival, in from New York, with a giant personality and 60 nodes of breast cancer, back for a second round in one breast. She took a week off to fly back to New York to have a mastectomy on one side. But she was back onstage and performing, one week later, drains and tape partially filling out what used to be fat and tissue and mammary glands and cancer. I wanted to cry at the sight of it. She said it was a selfish maneuver, that she felt better when she was onstage and performing, that it helped her psyche. She told everyone she met in the green room, the ladies room, all over the theatre to go out ASAP and have a mammogram. She started calling herself the "One Tit Wonder" and we joyfully ripped the stuffing out of a pillow to add some padding to the right side, all the while giggling like children with a secret.

She went back to New York a couple of weeks later, at the end of her contract. I haven't heard anything from her since. I hope she's well. I hope she doesn't give in. She's lost far more than I.

That is all.