Sunday, March 09, 2008

Storming the D-cup

No guns to head, I did this on my own: volunteered to take my hapless, fat-thigh-ed colleague shopping. (A Meeta-type name does her justice). And so, having walked into this with my eyes wide open...(heh, digression: that, in another context, was quite the boy-girl-another boy-another girl-sex-intersection-personal life phrase of the past fortnight! End of digression)...back to little miss muffet -- she and I were to go undie-shopping on Sunday.Today. This schoolgirl excursion has been in the pipeline a few weeks now -- enthused moments of ya ya lets all go, it'll be fun followed by much high-pitched convulsing.

Of course we weren't calling it undie-shopping or panty-purchasing. No thrifty-thonging either. We like vague. We, in fact, prefer cryptic, and we will take along with us to GK M-Block market absolutely anybody who is tickled by the sound of Birdie num num -- which is, cat out, our little office joke. By which we mean lingerie. What Peter Sellers has to do with bras, will find out at work first thing tomorrow noon.

Anyhow. The lets all go dwindled to just she and I, and so Meeta chica woke me up this morning with her text: "11- 11.30 then" followed by inane smiley. We only met at 12-12.15; had to drive my rattle-box to be healed at the mechanic's.

First stop Allen Solly. Deserted bloody store, three hanger-on sales people. Yea yea, Goodmorning, move it. Meeta was in the trial room experimenting with some flimsy white shimmery thing. Eight hundred bucks. We'll come back. Thank you. On our way out to next store, I scolded her to not be so taken in by gaudy bling, audaciously priced at that.

Next, we go to big brand shop. United under colours. Thirty per cent off. We linger. We buy. We backspace a bit -- I buy. We convince. Debit cards brandished, both walk out, both carrying teeny yellow paper bags. Not too bad a day.

Third shop is terrible. Think red plastic beads, and wide straps; cannot endorse their wares, we will look whores, and totally secondary, be disowned by the respective boy-men in our lives.

Fourth one we go to, we stay put for t.h.r.e.e hours. In the process, we learn our salesgirl's name, and she makes us understand her preference for high-waisted trousers. Aaaahh, we say to each other, Meeta and I.

Here start the fun and games. Meeta knows jack shit about bust measurement. But her initial coyness is done away with. From covering up and telling me to "ok ok go out", she's whining for me to come in and "help". Salesgirl, poor thing, seems to be running around fetching bras of all shapes in her size, but Meeta's mosquito bites are meagre, and the cup is always half empty.

We underestimate our salesgirl. She said she'll be right back. Drumming our fingers, humming our wild songs -- the two of us are happily cooped in one trial room. We're looking at the mirror and talking to the other, "just imagine"-ing our HR head to be vastly tickled if he were to ever see two prize employees like so: one weather beaten almost-editor in a her pathetic semi-buff glory, the other: dressed provocative, but clothed complete, mock thanking the kind lord for bit-endowment and other perfect attributes.

Salesgirl has returned. There are now three of us in the trial room. Six eyes on one chest. I start to inch out of that teeny space. Salesg. instructs Meeta to stand straight. Before my poor friend could push her belly out, sly Sales has, in one quick swoop, thrust two fishy add-ons in each of her two under wire cups! Meeta shocked, Salesg. triumphant, me ha-ha-ing away for very long time after.

Bizarre conversation follows. Sales says nobody will be able to tell. 'Even if someone touches, it will feel like skin'. Stitches in our sides, Holi's around the corner, we joke, why not stuff boobs with water balloons instead of silicone tid bits. Or socks. Hell, even aata-pedas would do!

I had
a splendid time. My shopping was done, thrifty thongs and all. Meeta was choking on tears. She's not big on artifice. (The woman's on organic food, for Chriss' sake.) Madame did, though pick up a wonder-bra. Erin Brokovich lines were recalled. Hot, she looked, Meeta! Didn't let me click with my new camera-phone, but the deed was done. Paid and collected. Expensive num nums were bought. Daily wear, and for when bird-ies and bees-ies collide. Lace has been come to terms with. And patience in (her) co-workers realised.

9 comments:

Y said...

This blog could be called "The Woodchuck Changes Templates."

This one is nice though. Stick with it, maybe?

Fascinating post. I like the subtle injections of literary flourish.

[People eat organic food in Delhi?]

sammy said...

silicon and not an optimist can make this cup full.

mistercrowley said...

Though the general humour behind the post escapes my work-addled male mind :P this "fat-thighed" person sounds vaguely familiar....

Perakath said...

The best-titled post I ever saw. You were supposed to ask me for help on bust measurements!

Nimpipi said...

Y: I'm never satisfied with the damn template. But yea, sticking to this for a while maybe. Apart from a few minor changes that my good designer sitting in Bombay has been instructed to make.
--Literary flourish, really?? second read left me thinking it a rather staccato post.
--People eat all sorts of food in Delhi. Vegan trend catching on, the pretensions of, anyway.

Sammy: I have no idea what you mean. Yes, i know you said something about a beer poster, but i still don't get it.

MC: At least you acknowledge general humour. But fat thighs are rampant in North India, so no no, don't be putting perhaps wrong faces to asteriked names:)

Perakath: I was supposed to ask you for help on bust measurements? No na. I once mentioned I was impressed that you knew what measure was indicative of what, and which lady was a likely size whatever, but wasn't that it?

IR said...

very nice template , nice pictures

Y said...

Ah but staccato is good in small doses like this.

"We backspace a bit" - very clever!

Nimpipi said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Nimpipi said...

ir: thank you. hopefully it gets better. "watch this space" etc. :)

y: sigh, ok, you win. literary flourish, and cleverness it is. I am humbled.