The Girls.

Today after rehearsal we went to the mall.

Voodoo and I love the mall. I tell people this sometimes and they look at me with such confusion that you'd think I just told them I was born with a conjoined twin that still itches my ass for me. But here's the thing - we grew up in the Bible Belt suburbs. We lived in a town where if you weren't part of a youth group, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do as a teenager. So, even as gother-than-thou little misfits, we wound up hanging out at the mall a lot.

Also: we like shopping.

So. The main goal for today was to get my hair trimmed by our cousin Michelle, who works in the mall. Secondary goals included getting some decent flats and false eyelashes because we leave for the Burlesque Hall of Fame on Wednesday. And, you know, since we were there ANYWAY... may as well have the whole mall experience. This includes the food court.

But I'm not here to tell you about my addiction to fried chicken. As I said, we were looking for shoes. In the mall, there's this shop that we refer to as "the hooker shoe store" because it sells ridiculous stripper-esque shoes. This is where you can go if you need a pair of five-inch stilettos where the heel is made out of fake bullets. It's glorious. Anyway, while my sister looked in vain for anything in a size five, I perused the silver shoes because I need a pair just in case for Vegas. (I'm an alternate in the group number.) One of the girls who worked there asked if I needed help, and then interrupted herself as she stared at my chest.

"I'm sorry - are those REAL?"

I told her, yes. And when she asked I told her my cup size. (Which is an I in European sizing.) She promptly called over the other girl working there to ogle my tits. Which sounds really bad, but she was awfully sweet about it. She then went on about her own desire to have a boob job, and was horrified to find I have considered reduction surgery. I told her just to get fat if she wanted bigger ones.

Later, buying insanely colourful underwear, another salesgirl asked about my chest size. (This made more sense since we were in LaSenza, at least.) She too was torn between envy and horror.

I don't take particular pride on my breasts. They're just THERE, getting in the way more often than not. I don't dislike them (usually) but when this sort of thing happens I can't help but be amused.

Happily, I manage to fit my big ol' boobs into a stunning dress after that. I'm wearing the hell out of this on Thursday night when Voodoo preforms I think. Yay!