The Breast Wars: Part I-- I Devise A Winning Strategy

    Picture an average pancake, sitting on a plate.  Now think about the tiny Tootsie Rolls people give out on Halloween.  Cut one in half cross wise.  Put a dot of syrup in the middle of the pancake and place the Tootsie Roll on it like a rocket.  When you are finished, you will have made an extremely realistic (and edible!) model of one of my breasts.  It should look like this:

(front view)
(side view)

    (I could have made this a little thinner to more accurately represent my breast, but I didn't want to burn it.)

       I read a lot of Renaissance poetry in college, and poets always described bosoms as "orbs" or "globes" in recognition of the fact that the area supporting the nipple is usually three dimensional and round, like a baseball or a cantaloupe.  I have yet to find a poet who says:

For gladly would I give up burritos, and water, and coins
In exchange for your smooth, flat bosom, so like a compact disc
That plays the music of the fire in my loins.

    Unfortunately, bra makers also seem to think that all bra-wearers have round boobs, not pancakes topped with a Tootsie Roll.  Finding a bra that fits me is even harder than getting all my laundry folded.  I can go braless, but then I flash headlights regardless of the temperature.  Bill doesn't object to this, but in the Tiny Kingdom you can't exactly hang out by the frozen foods at Publix with your party hats on and not expect to start a rumor that your marriage is on the rocks and you're trolling for men by the DiGiorno pizzas.

    Last week I decided to tackle my titty problem directly.  I paid off my American Express bill, then sat at the computer to find the perfect bra, one that doesn't crumple from unused space, that doesn't chafe with prison-quality underwire, and most importantly, one that provides a smooth silhouette, with no wrinkles or obvious nipple.

    I found BareNecessities.com, which had a huge selection.  I ordered a wide variety of 36A bras, ranging from the $20 Warner's "Be Flirty" to the $127 La Perla "Vintage Contour Bra."  (I figured if it was the magic bra, I'd just buy one and wash it out every other day or so and maybe wear Band-aids every once in a while to save wear and tear.)

    Then, because I was already on the site, I ordered some new underwear as well, because mine are getting ratty.  I had already ordered Bill fancy new underwear and undershirts from Nordstrom, and I figured that I deserved the same level of undergarments.

    Many clicks and dollars later, my order was complete.  The boxes would be delivered in a couple of days, I'd try on all the bras and underwear in private, then ship the rejects back quickly so my credit card could be credited.

    The next day was a busy one.  Drew and Porter had spent the night at camp, and Finn was sleeping late, so I headed to Jazzercise before I ran errands to get ready for the beach.  We were leaving the next day and I had to get decorations for Bill's 40th birthday, beach toys, and groceries.

    While I was doing rock-claps to "It's Raining Men" my cell phone rang.  I answered it, panting, and heard a teenager on the other end of the line calling from camp to tell me that Drew was vomiting and needed to be picked up.  I estimated that I was thirty minutes from camp.

    "It will take me at least forty minutes to get there," I told the counselor.  "I'm on my way."

    I ran to the minivan and headed up the highway, making only an eight minute detour to purchase some decorations for Bill's 40th birthday party, which would take place at the beach.  I wasn't at all confident that I could find what I needed once I left the city.

    Drew wasn't looking so bad when I picked him up.  I let him drink a couple of sips of water as we headed home on the crowded highway.  Moments later, he made a choking sound, and then I heard splattering.  He threw up twice more on the way home, and we stopped each time to clean out the van.  By the time we got home, Drew was pale and trembling.

    I bathed him and tucked him in bed.  I surveyed the van, which reeked.  I sprayed rug cleaner liberally over the affected parts and decided to opt for the "let it soak in" method of cleaning.  The van had to be sparkling and the smell at least tolerable by the next morning, when we'd be pulling out and heading toward the ocean.

    With Drew consigned to bed, my day of running pre-vacation errands was shot.  I headed to the computer to pay bills.  The phone rang.

    "This Geneva, from Bare Necessities," a woman said.  "You get our email about you order?"

    "No, I haven't had time to check emails today," I said.

    "Ah.  Well, because you are new customer, and because of size of order, we must needs to check your credit card information more exactly.  Can you send us copy of you drivers license, front and back, and credit card, front and back?"

    I looked at my caller ID.  Geneva was calling from Bare Necessitites. 

    "Certainly," I said.  I got her phone number and email address and hung up.

    As I prepared to scan the information, I realized that I had put the order on my American Express.  I believe that card is somewhere here in the room near our computer, and I've kept a close eye on the account, so I know no one else is using it, but  I haven't actually seen the card in over a year.  I just have the numbers and expiration date and I use it for ordering online.  There was no way I was going to be able to send Geneva a copy of the American Express.

    Instead, I retrieved my Mastercard, and sent it.  I emailed all the information, and included a note explaining that I had substituted one credit card for another.

    Moments later the phone rang again.  It was Geneva.

    "I get you email," she said.  "But I cannot put order on new card.  System will not let me do. You cannot send me the American Express?"

    "No," I said truthfully.  I didn't want to tell her I didn't actually have it, so I said, "you see, one of my twins is throwing up, and I'm not at the office today, and I don't have the American Express with me.  I have this problem with my bosoms-- they're just so tiny and flat, but my nipples are really protrusive, and I can't find a bra that really fits me, and your company looked like it had a good selection, so I was ordering a variety of 36As to see if I could find the perfect bra.  And then I decided maybe I deserved some nice underwear.  But really, I'm almost forty, and I've dealt with it this long, so maybe you should just cancel the order.  I'm not going to be able to leave the house, and I'm leaving town in the morning."

    There was silence on the line for a moment, and then Geneva said, "I talk to manager and call you back."

     I barely had time to check on Drew before the phone rang again and Tatiana was on the phone.  "Geneva tells me you have uncommon breasts," she said.

    I've seen a lot of naked ladies in my day, and I've never seen anyone with boobs like mine, so that seemed like a fair assumption.  "I guess you could say that," I agreed.

    "I am sure Bare Necessities will be able to provide a bra that fits you," Tatiana said smoothly.  "We were able to confirm that the names and addresses on your American Express and Mastercard matched, so I have simply canceled the order from your American Express and reordered it on your Mastercard.  Will that be satisfactory to you?"

    "Sure," I said.  "I certainly appreciate your going to all that trouble."

    "It is our pleasure at Bare Necessities," Tatiana replied.  "Let me know if I can be of further assistance."

    The customer service at Bare Necessities certainly put me in a good mood, which was just as well, because I still had to pack for the beach, clean the van, and tend to Drew.

    By the time Bill got home, I was bone-weary. 

    "You seem quiet," Bill remarked.

    I told him about Drew, the vomit, and the rest of the day, which included a tearful goodbye to Finn's best friend, who was moving to Tennessee, Porter's return from camp, apparently germ-free, and the creation of piles of beach clothes for each boy, neatly laid out in the den.

    Then I told him what was really on my mind.

    "Honey, today a lady who knows a lot about bosoms told me I had 'uncommon breasts,'" I said.

    "As in uncommonly small?" Bill asked.  "I'd say she's right on the money.  We've always said that when we got married, you gave up long haired men and I gave up big titty women."

    "Yeah, but you could grow long hair if you wanted to," I pointed out.

    "Don't go worrying about your boobs, honey," Bill said.  He handed me a glass.  "Drink this gin and tonic."

    Then he slapped me on the bottom.

    "Besides, I married you for your ass, not your tits, honey."