It was my company Christmas party this past weekend. So of course, being a good little corporate whore, I bought a festive outfit for the semi-formal event - a red, holiday number that showed some cleavage.
By "some" cleavage, I have to clarify that I am well endowed and show "some" cleavage even when wearing a turtle-neck and scarf. My husband jokes that my boobs enter a room before I do, although over time, gravity and age have given them independent satellite systems, making it quite possible for them to enter TWO rooms at the same time. That's how fucking talented they are. But please, hold your applause until the end of the show.
Despite the incredible talent my boobs possess, however, I do believe that talent should not be just displayed willy-nilly. No ... there is a proper place and time for the girls to show their stuff. In the work place, where you could poke an eye out and negatively impact productivity, they need to maintain a low profile. People in my office are easily distracted by the sprinkles on their doughnuts. Give them some D-cups to look at, and the whole place could come to a standstill. Besides, I doubt the safety department has the proper procedures in place to deal with unencumbered breasts in the workplace. Get them caught in the shredder, or put them in the way of a runaway forklift, and the company would find itself settling quite an unsettling law suit.
So I keep the ladies locked and loaded at the office - as demure as they can possibly be, given that by their nature, they like to come out and play.
But once and awhile, outside of the office, the girls just need to party. So I let them out for a wee-bit, just to say "hi." Such was the case with this holiday event.
Don't get me wrong though. There's a difference between letting them have a little fun and having them put on a show that requires guests to shove dollar bills in your panties and mothers to cover their children's eyes. So while I like to let them air out a bit, I still believe in leaving something to the imagination.
I also believe in giving the girls all the support they need while they are out, which is why I "put them up" much like some women would put their hair up. This requires a good bra that does not just lift and separate but also hoists and props. As I said, gravity and time have given them minds of their own, so a sturdy bra such as this tends to focus them, at least deploying them in a similar direction. A bra like this often deflects bullets and make cappuccino too, which is an added bonus if you're out all night or partying in a war zone. So what if it's a little uncomfortable? The alternative, which is having two, multi-directional fat-sacks flopping around in the punch bowl and onion dip at the same time, is a lot more embarrassing. Not to mention messy.
So there I was, hoisted and controlled yet tastefully displayed. The girls were having fun, and so was I.
And then one of the company secretaries asked me if I wanted a safety pin, so I could "cover myself up."
Now granted, this woman has no cleavage, and if she did, she'd have it removed so her body would match her personality. So I understand that she may be a little envious of someone who has a pair like mine.
But really ... she isn't my mother, isn't my boss, isn't my lesbian lover, or even my friend, so why did she feel the urge to cover me up?
I let it go ... thinking she may have been trying to be funny, which she really has no right to be, given her total lack of a sense of humor.
Then she did it again at dinner. She came to my table and leaned over and told me she still had that safety pin, if I needed it. You know ... for my breasts.
I looked around. Were my girls the only ones that came to this party? It didn't appear so to me. In fact, it looked like it was a regular cornucopia of breasts. Here a rack, there a rack, everywhere a rack, rack.
Yet she still seemed obsessed with mine, for some reason. Why were mine so special, I wondered? I mean, despite the obvious?
Now I'm back to work, the girls are back inside, and I've decided to write their secret admirer an e-mail, just so she knows her comments were appreciated. The e-mail goes something like this:
Thank you for your heartfelt concern for my breasts the other evening. On the behalf of myself and both of them, especially the right one, I would like to let you know how touched we all are that you noticed.
It came as a shock to all three of us, mind you, that you have been promoted to the position of Corporate Breast Monitor. We did not receive the announcement regarding your promotion and hope it is not too late to offer you our congratulations. However, we were quite surprised to hear that you were trusted with this position, considering you have no boobs of your own. It just goes to show you that our company is a leader in giving people with special needs a chance!
We'd also like to point out that your new position will in no way harm the lack of relationship we had in the past. After talking to you at the Christmas party the other night, we all decided that our first assessment of you as a bitter matronly prude still stands. So don't worry about your promotion making us treat you any different! Your unwanted advice will have the same affect it always does!
Again, our thanks for your obvious infatuation with our display the other night. We are glad we could stand apart from the other, run-of-the-mill breasts that also attended the party, although we must admit we could not have done it alone. Our thanks also to Victoria's Secret, for helping us stay alert and focused for the event.
You may be interested to know that we also hire out for functions, although I'm afraid we do not book separately. However, we do offer our own simultaneous, yet independent performances if you so request.