Nary a nipple…
Another wonderful night in Brooklyn. Great food, wine, and talk that meandered from trench warfare, Italo Calvino, tattoos, and dreams to no nipple bras. Now, who’d have thunk no nipple bras could be the subject of an intense conversation. But I’ve been noticing for years that when you shop at the Gap or Victoria’s Secret, all the bras are padded. Some more than others. I figured the reason was obvious. Girls wanted more cleavage. But no. “It’s a trend,” says my young friend. “What’s strange is we walk around half naked, tiny tees, tinier skirts, killer heels, but we insist on no nipple bras. Why such modesty?” And who the fuck came up it? I mean, I never see the subject “covered” in fashion magazines. And no one really talks about it. How did it happen? On Sunday, my husband and I did our own street survey. Staring at bosoms can be a somewhat embarrassing experience, especially as a middle-aged lady. “Quit lookin’ and get your own tits!” shouted one particularly irate, nippleless teenager. Anyway, there’s no question. It definitely is a trend. Between the two of us, we counted a grand total of four nipples in an hour. (That’s two nipples per girl.)
Duh? If you don’t believe me, do your own survey. But be discreet. And get back to me.
Oh. About the tattoos. Seems there’s a girl with a wicked weird bit of ink on the inside of her upper thighs. A voluptuous roller blading pin-up waitress from the 50′s carrying a tray with a woman’s head on it. FUCK!