Today I gave up on Victoria’s Secret entirely and just went with a sweater over a lined camisole. This is a pretty bold move, since my office is kept at roughly 40 degrees Fahrenheit. In my opinion, ditching the bra for a camisole is one of the benefits of being small-breasted (although I like to think of my girls as perky and athletic rather than small per se). However, there are few benefits (fashion-wise, that is) to having slutty nipples. I have to admit that I really envy women whose nipples don’t stand at attention because of a slight breeze, a 2-degree change in temperature or because, you know, there’s air in the air. When it comes to getting dressed on the weekends, I give myself permission to damn the torpedoes and take a break from trying to hide the headlights, but work is different. Work requires creativity when wearing a camisole.
Work requires Scotch tape.
I bow to the Scotch tape. It's better than sticky pseudo-bra cups, or what my ex-best friend and I called Foozbas. It’s simple, painless and cost-effective. And it frequently saves the day. Like at Lunchboy’s friend’s wedding last week, when the temperature dropped below 75 and my summer dress just didn’t insulate the way it was supposed to. He looked mystified when I asked him to get some Scotch tape from the front desk of the hotel.
“What’s it for?” he asked. “What should I tell them if they ask?” But he went down to the desk and got it. Then he stood there with a startled but fascinated look on his face as I pulled down my dress and applied a few pieces.
Of course, because I was doing it in front of him, I bungled the whole thing and ended up looking like my chest was covered in little bits of cardboard. Failure. As. A. Woman. Not only can I not prevent myself from spilling all over every piece of clothing I own, I can’t even tape my own nipples effectively.
So he redid it for me. I’m not sure he’ll ever look at Scotch tape the same way. And now my secret's out.
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