The Powerful Double Edged Sword of Boobies

Last Thursday rushing to get ready for work I looked through my closet and grabbed one of the new, inexpensive, summer dresses I bought the week prior.

It was clean and it fit, so off to the bus I booted, late as always, headphones blaring Waltham.

When I got into the office and bumped into a fro-worker the first words out of her mouth were "WOAH!!! Who you trying to impress today?" I figured it was because I typically wear a potato sack to work and thought nothing of it. Later in the morning I met with my boss and noticed as I sat across from him he was looking everywhere but directly at me. Paranoid as I am, I simply assumed I unwittingly effed something up big time and would be fired later in the day accordingly.

But then I went into the bathroom, and in the mirror before me was the most abundant cleavage I believe I have ever pulled off. So much so in fact that the possibilities of accidental nipple exposure was at 50%. Couple this dress with a bad choice in bra it would certainly raise to 80%.

Since it was a Thursday before the Friday before a long weekend (No. 182 of my 198,654 reasons to celebrate), there was no better time to go out for a few cocktails after work with the girls. So after COB we sauntered over to the Legal Seafood outside bar at the Charles' courtyard.

You can't beat this bar for people watching and atmosphere. It is so great that it makes up for the fact that it is wicked expensive, you have to walk a mile to get to a bathroom (not a good thing for a woman with a bladder the size of an eye lash), and it is always horribly over-crowded. You can pretty much count on never getting a seat, and worse than that - it takes forever to get a drink.

Since of course there were no tables available, the four of us boldly and discreetly gathered some loose chairs and formed a close circle. Most likely due to my impatience and love of alcohol, I am invariably nominated to go up to the bar and get the drinks. I had my work cut out for me, the crowd was deep. While flashing the green to ensure they knew I was interested, I busied myself with checking out the masses and mentally buckled myself down for the long haul.

I wasn't there but two seconds when a sheer miracle occured - the bartender yelled to me over the heads of the crowd and took my order. As I made my way back to our makeshift untable my friends were astonished. How? Why? Who the hell cares? Second round - I'll fly! Again, quick service, others looked over. I am a frigin super hero at this point. An hour later again, same thing. When I got back to our circle, they made me swear I would wear the dress every time we went there. And it dawned on me - it wasn't experience, tact or skill that got me those drinks - it was my boobs....hmmmm.....I may be on to something here....

Saturday night rolls around and I have plans to meet my friend Sandy and her husband at the hands-down diviest dive bar in Waltham. What to wear? What..to...wear? Considering this bar is very small, and quite popular despite the fact your feet will stick to the floor, I figured my best bet would be the freshly laundered beer getting dress - my coat of armor, my super power cape if you will.

I was a bit early and my friend weren't there yet, so I took a seat at the bar.

ID! A raspy voice demands.

Shit, it is a woman bartender. This may not work. I hand over my ID.

This doesn't look like you!

Oh it's me alright. I have several other items with my name on it to prove so.

She reluctantly filled my order and then started in on me with 101 questions. What brings me there? Who am I meeting? Am I driving? During all of this a scuffle breaks out at the other end of the bar. She goes over the kicks someone out then makes a beeline back to me and tells the other patrons around me "he is a good guy, he just gets a little pushy after a few drinks". Frigin great. Thank god my friends showed up minutes later, and then more friends later than that, so we pretty much dominated the place so I wasn't worried. My friend Sand told me when I went to the bathroom the bartender took her aside and asked her pretty much the same questions about me that she had asked to me. I ordered another beer.

You better slow down, we don't need trouble.

Huh? This is my second drink! I already told you I am not driving.

For crying out loud I can be the biggest troublemaker that you have EVER dealt with after a few beers but I am quietly sitting with friends, not to mention you seem to have a heart of gold for people who get PUSHY (this outburst was in my head of course).

You just better watch it, she says.

So there it was, my super cleavage obviously worked, it got her attention, but not exactly the kind I was looking for. I realized that by being rude she was strangely expressing concern over my safety. It was obviously not the nicest of places, she knew it, and I knew it. She eventually loosened up, and I had a great time with my friends.

There is of course no moral to this story, it's been a long slow week in Scotchland.

Happy Thursday!