Tits and Ass

The Duke & I went to the mall tonight. I fucking hate the mall, but he said he needed to get his Mom a birthday present. He promised me dinner and a great bottle of wine at the Olive Garden for dinner, so, of course, I said I'd go.

I only went for the wine because we all know how I feel about my Bitch In-Law. The birthday ritual with her goes like this: We buy a present, she oohs and aahs over the fucking thing, and then sticks it on a shelf in the back of her closet where it will remain until the end of time.

Halfway through the mall, my daytime drunkenness is starting to wearing off. I realize The Bitch In-Law's birthday was in May. Motherfucker! Damn that 5th cocktail I had to have while watching Jerry Springer!

The Duke says, "Babe, you need new bra's. Let's get you fitted."

Visions and flashbacks of my puberty bra fitting (read: a traumatic experience that scarred me for fucking life) seep into my brain and I stammer, "Ummm, No. I don't want to."

"Dutchess, that's the only reason I coerced you to come. You need new bras. Choose. Victoria's Secret or Marshall Fields."

"No. I don't wanna, asshat."

"Dutchess, stop being an idiot. These women see boobs all day long. You don't need to feel self- conscious."

"They haven't seem MY boobs. You know, my saggy, stretched out, forty something, swinging at the knees, boobs. No! I'm not fucking going and that's it." I stuck out my bottom lip, crossed my arms, firmly planted my stilettos and glared at him.

After the dicklick finally put me down in the middle of Victoria's Secret, he went in search of a Boob Technician. He returned with a beautiful, petite and soft-spoken girl. I apologized to her for the trauma she was about to endure, and we went into the fitting area.

"Do I need to take my blazer off?" I started to shrug it off. It only made sense that one would need to remove the goddamn jacket to get an accurate boob measurement. When I glanced up, the poor bitch looked visibly shaken.

"No! I mean, You can just leave it on!"

"Umm, ok. I think I'll just take it off."

This girl was literally scared of the boobs.

She walked over and I lifted my arms out to the sides. She very hesitantly placed the tape measure around the upper part of my torso and mumbled a number. She then placed it under the boobs and mumbled another number.

I could see by the look on her face when she was down there that she thought they were going to come to life, scream, "Feed me, Seymour!", and eat her goddamn face off.

I almost felt bad for her.

She then placed the tape measure around my actual boobs. She gasped, adjusted, muttered, adjusted again, frowned, tightened, relaxed, and muttered some more.

"Is everything okay?" I was beginning to feel enormously self-conscious and light headed from lack of alcohol. Women coming and going were starting to openly stare.

"Umm...Yeah, Umm...I'm just trying to figure out what comes after a double D."

I sighed. "I don't know. Triple D? Maybe a trip to the goddamn Tent & Awning store?"

She looks at me and calls for the other small breasted Boob Technician, "LaQuisha, what comes after a double D?"

LaQuisha paused, looked at my boobs for a moment and said, "E. Umm..., you're going to have to order from the catalogue and I don't even know that we carry them that large."

Just fucking perfect. "Yeah, I guess you'd need a whole lot more space. One of those bra drawers would pry only hold one cup, huh?" LaQuisha and Clueless stood staring at me until I turned purple and ran for the door. Humiliation is not a good look on the Dutchess.

Once outside, the Duke declared that I needed a second opinion.

"Look assbag, they're boobs, not a fucking brain tumor. I don't need a second opinion."

"That girl didn't even know what came after a double D. We're going to Marshall Fields."

"Why must you do this to me assclown? Haven't I been violated enough for one goddamn day? This is going to cost you 2 goddamn bottles of wine and a new pair of shoes."

When we got to Marshall Fields bra department, they had a fabulous TV screen display that showed the various types of bra's. Edging toward the door, I was readying for my escape while The Duke was mesmerized by a Miracle bra demonstration. I was suddenly cornered by Edith. She appeared out of nowhere and scared the hell out of me.

"Need help there, missy?" Edith is 89-years-old, three feet tall, and has been a Boob Technician since she was seventeen. I swear on all things pink and leopardy, she fucking moved as silently as a ninja and it was apparent I was not getting away without an accurate boob measurement.

Once shackled within the dressing room, she instructed me to remove my shirt, but leave my bra on.

"What? Shirt off? Do you have back-up out there somewhere? I don't think-"

"Off. Now. Quit bein' shy. You don't have anything I haven't seen a million times before."

Although I seriously doubted that, I removed my shirt. I blushed from embarrassment and crossed my hands over my cheap cotton bra, Shut the hell up. I have kick ass shoes and infuckingcredible panties but the trauma caused by past bra fittings have forced me to become a catalog bra shopper that guesses her size and looks for comfort, bitches!

Edith grabbed my arms and forced them out to my sides.

Bing, bang, ding. Done.

"Cup size G. That's what I thought, Stay right here and I'll be right back."

"Excuse me. Did you say G? As in ginormous? Gargantuan? What the fuck! Where the hell did F go?"

"How about G as in 'gifted', honey. I'll be right back."

"Where-"

Just like that, she was gone. About now, I need a drink and a funny cigarette. I needed to calm myself and focus.

When she returned, I was doing my best Karate Kid crane pose in the mirror. Just fucking great.

"Try these on." She deposited what looked like 6 enormous bowl hats on the bench.

"Wow. I could wear those on my goddamn hea-" All of sudden, Edith, the Boob Ninja was behind me and had unsnapped my bra before I could fathom what was happening.

"Whoah! I got this!" I clutched my bra to my chest and tried to side-step her.

I was not fast enough.

I was standing there half-nude while she flitted around me. She lifted, tucked, snapped and molded with lightening goddamn speed. Suddenly, it looked like I had two mortar shells stuffed into a motherfucking slingshot that would have taken King Kong's head clean off.

"This is the minimizer. Feel that support? Now, it doesn't do much for the shape of the breast, but it's good for your back and look at the perk! Betcha haven't seen perk like that in a few years!"

"I-"

And just like that, I was alone.

I tried on the other bra's for fear that Edith the goddamn Boob Ninja would come back and manhandle my boobs again. I came out with my selections. Edith smiled, charged me what I assume would be the cost of a fucking kidney on the black market, thanked me and sent us on our way.

"That's was motherfucking creepy, Duke Asshat. She can just appear an disappear at will."

At the entrance, I stopped by a selection of pretty bras I hadn't previously seen.

"Wow. These look comfortable. That's really soft. Feel this..."

"Those are the Oprah bra's!" Edith chirped from directly behind me. I squeaked, peed a little and then thanked her. She disappeared back into the bra's.

On the drive to the Olive Garden, Duke Dumbass said, "Now, see, Dutchess? That wasn't so bad."

I wanted to punch the bastard in the mouth. Instead, I'm calling his Doctor and reminding him the Duke has not yet had his colonoscopy. I'm scheduling it for Friday morning. It will serve the fucker right.