Prattle on
Thursday, June 09, 2005
So, I must have walked to and from my bathroom about 12 times this morning in an effort to get dressed for work. I had wardrobe issues. Choosing the right bra with the right outfit is both an art and a science. The aesthetics have to be almost perfect – are they held nicely, do I look good from the side, is my cleavage alluring rather than sleazy. The bra’s ability to ‘work’ is also important, do the straps dig in, will the back begin to bother me, how does it fit based on where I am in my cycle. There are a million considerations, most of which I decide on instantaneously every morning, no problem. Normally, there is only trouble if I have to go somewhere fancy, but I have a couple bras that are like ‘ringers’ for that.

The issue this morning had to do with both aesthetics and workability. I am wearing a light pink shirt made out of a thin material. Great for the heat – bad for the undergarments. I don’t often wear it. Obviously I can’t wear a black bra or I will look like Stephanie K from Degrassi. Since, I have a collection of pink bras I had to try them all on with the shirt. It’s a good thing the lighting in my bathroom is different or I would have not been reminded of the following important lesson: when you wear a light coloured shirt with a bra made of pink transparent material and you are honey coloured, in certain lights, like the clear light of day, your nipples will be for all the world to see.

I learned that lesson the hard way last year. One of my favourite white shirts with, yes a lacey pink bra looked perfectly fine in my bedroom mirror. But, in the office, not only were my nipples visible, they were plain, obvious even. You could look at me and say, ‘Hey, those are your nipples.’

I hope this never happens again. Really, I think Visible Nipple Syndrome (or VNS), is less socially acceptable than Camel Toe (CT). That is why every morning, not only do I perform a CT scan, but if I am wearing a light coloured shirt I also perform a VNS test.

This is just on of my life’s little realities. Fascinating, I know.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
So, this is a drink and post.

I don't know if it is the hot weather, my increased intake of salad or my giddiness for the beautiful season, but I can not seem to hold even minimal amounts of alchol. Tonight I shared a bottle of wine with GRC, Shelly and Nadia. OK it was a 1.5 litre. I was properly wholloped by the booze half way into the first glass. I, of course, continued drinking because in my stupour I though that if I had more wine it would help. You know, like when you were 19 and you'd be be tipsy after the 1st Moslon Canadian yet more stable after the second.

You know what, I was wrong.

I just got drunker. I don't know what it is, but wonder if it gonna be like this for the rest of the season and I gotta say, I really hope so because really, it will make for a cheap and perhaps naughty summer and that's the kind of summer we all need, cheap and naughty.
So, I have taken to walking home from work during the week as it is so lovely outside. Yesterday I was feeling very summery and fancy free as I strolled long Adelaide, than Bay than Queen bound for McCall, headed toward Baldwin, meant for Spadina, destined for home via College. That was me yesterday. That was me holding my skirt down as the wind pushed it up with some of it’s more powerful gusts. That was also me yanking my skirt up every 16 steps. The boom-chicka-boom of my hips as I walk combined with the skirt’s material absorbing every bit of moisture in the air and on my skin, and it’s stretching after a days wear cause my skirt to creep down my body until I caught it just in time.

This always happens to me. All the way home I wondered, why I wear this skirt. I wondered where the phantom stains came from (for some reason this particular skirt attracts every brightly coloured liquid on earth). I wondered if I will ever be smart enough to do whatever I need to do to fix this skirt so it rests securely on the space below my waist, yet above my hips. I gave myself a real talking to.

Then as I approached the internet café near Ossington I saw this terrifying man painting a door red out in the open. Luckily he was out of the main fray of Little Italy – positioned safely a couple blocks away from those enjoying a summer ice cream on the patio of the Sicilian - but in full view none-the-less. As he reached up to paint the top and bent forward to paint the bottom that lucky section of college, myself included for a precious few minutes got a full view of his fat ass, moist with sweat, partially covered in hair.

Suddenly my misbehaving skirt was put into perspective.

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