Lots of Monkeys

Did you know, that there are boutiques specifically for the sole purpose of taking a woman’s measurements (read: boobs) and then giving them a bra that fits?

As a man, I have to say the very concept of underwear not being S, M, or L is almost like a foreign language.  Men never talk about underwear.  On the other hand, the bra is often spoken of but never really discussed.  I think it has something to do with the boobs.

For example.

There’s no stigma or suppositions imposed on a man if he announces his suit size is a 38S.  This is a basic chest measurement, along with a sleeve length.  I could say that another man is a 44L.  In either case, there’s not really any sort of image that is conjured by the measurements.

On the other hand, let’s say that a woman is a 30A.  There’s definitely an image there.  Then another woman is a 36DD.  Already, there’s a clear mental image of this woman.  That, and if you’re the empathetic sort, a twinge of back pain.

Which is why hanging around half a dozen lady friends at The Full Cup in Alexandria was an eye opening experience.

The store itself is hidden away in a small nondescript building.  It’s not a place that you would discover.  It is in fact, one of those places that would be found only during a quest.  In this case, it’s the quest of six women to find a bra that fits.

Once I found it, I was immediately set upon by attack dogs and then summarily kicked out I was surprised to find comfortable velvet couches filled with pillows.  The inside was red and foreboding, with light sconces on the walls and some curtains for texture.  One wall was dominated by various lacy things and bits that I’m not at liberty to describe.  The opposite wall featured a long horizontal mirror framed by two corsets, themselves in frames.

I placed myself and my Digital SLR on one of the couches closest to the door and furthest away from the dressing rooms.  While we are all friends, I thought that a modicum of decency was required.  For the general public, at least.

I had a great time, in no small part due to the company and of course, the experience.  (I unfortunately did not find a bra that fits.)

There were boobs, certainly, but they were always behind the curtains, past the shimmering anti male gaze field projectors and the auto tracking tasers.  Which are aimed below the belt.

Naturally.