To the woman at the bra store who clocked me as a “Gerry” in reference to my G-cup breasts when I was coming of age,
I’m certain you haven’t spared one thought for me since our only encounter nearly twenty years ago. But your impact on my life has been so significant that I’m compelled to write to you now—especially as I find myself reaching to readjust a new bra that just doesn’t fit right.
The year was 2006. “Temperature” by Sean Paul and “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield were on the Billboard Hot 100 at the same time. I was trying to survive high school.
And my breasts were enormous.
Granted, you may not have appreciated how embarrassing that was for me at the time. I’m sure you met people like me every day, which is to say, fools, with deep grooves in their shoulders caused by ill-fitting bras. But my enormous breasts were not something I had yet come to terms with—that is, until that fateful day when I met you.