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The punchline, of course, was at the end of the evening. That's when, after I told him what I'd done while he was out, John asked me "Why the hell would you do that?"

I replied without thinking about it, "Don't worry. I have a plan."

Of course, that gave him cold chills down his spine, because those words never bode well. I quickly reassured him that the plan didn't involve him, or our apartment. After explanation, he admitted that it didn't sound like a bad plan.

I'd like to say it all started when the glitter arrived in the mail, but that's just what set off the evening, not the plan. Depending on how you look at it, you could say it started at Philcon in November, or else at whatever point my subconscious decided it was time to look for a man. Either way, the turning point was certainly the panel on flirting and dating, which I've mentioned before.

So, one of the pieces of advice was something everyone knows, but is nonetheless valid and worth reconsidering: Accentuate the positive, minimize the negative. The problem I always have with the theory is finding enough positive to distract from the negative. I think my eyes are nice enough... if you like grey-blue, hidden behind glasses. I have a great waist - compared to my enormous ass. Even the stereotypical compliment for fat chicks, "but she's got a lovely personality," is lukewarm at best - most of the time, sure, but on the bad days, I know I can be insecure and whiny, or a real bitch.

And then there's my boobs. If you've heard me rant about breasts before, feel free to skip the next three paragraphs, since you know what's coming. I'm very fond of my breasts. Sure, they get in the way sometimes, but that's just life. I like how they feel. I like having attention paid to them. I think they look right for my body - while they're a little large in an absolute sense, so are my shoulders, my rib cage, and my weight, so anything less wouldn't look right. I think they're among my best features. So, they should be a natural choice to emphasize, right?

Wrong. I'm insecure about my breasts, because judging by the men I know well, decent men don't like busty women.

I know, I know. My sample is suffering from selection bias, confirmation bias, and most significantly, hyperbole. Probably a more reasoned analysis would tell me that a) a fair percentage are more interested in legs, ass, shoulders, or something else than in the breasts; b) guys who like bigger breasts are less likely to talk about it for fear of offending someone or getting smacked; c) the guys I know who do talk about liking large breasts happen to be jerks, so I conveniently ignore them; and d) most guys in general like smaller women than me overall, therefore liking smaller breasts in the absolute regardless of the proportion. Be that as it may, it still leaves me conflicted about, er, flaunting the assets.

So, November, con, panel. Their discussion got around to breasts – like you do – and the advice to men was basically, you can look, but be discreet. One of the panelists then demonstrated how to do this. Clearly he's quite an accomplished actor, because the performance was memorable despite being perhaps ten seconds in all, and I could practically visualize the woman hanging in mid-air, right down to what she was wearing. (Or else I just have a good imagination.) I swear by all that is holy, I was jealous of an imaginary pair of breasts! If that doesn't sound to you like it could be an episode of Coupling, consider Sally and Susan having this conversation:

"...and I'm never going to be able to wear my green top, because those breasts could be wearing it!"
"The imaginary breasts."
"Yes."
"Which are invisible. Not to mention intangible."
"But they can be ANYTHING! All I have is this!"
"Sally, do you even know that man?”
"No, but that's not the point. Those breasts could be anywhere! Any man I talk to could be seeing them over my shoulder. How would I know? I can't compete with that."

At which point something would happen and the conversation would swerve in a different direction. And no, I am neither as neurotic nor as body-obsessed as Sally, but I think there's a bit of her in all of us.

Anyway, I digress. The advice to women was to accept that men are going to look, especially if the women are wearing corsets/bodices/other low-cut costumes, as so many do at cons. The same man added that anyone wearing glitter should doubly expect it, because it's combining two of man's favorite things, shiny and boobies. I think it was meant to be a warning, not a promise, but I prefer my way of seeing it.

I have to admit, I'm a little skeptical. I have never observed men being attracted to glitter, and quite a few averse to it. In fact, the only person I've ever seen actively drawn to glitter was Nici, and that hardly counts, since she was also usually the source of it. However, this wasn't the first time I'd heard that particular wisdom, and after all, this was direct testimony from someone at least theoretically in my target demographic. Besides, anything's worth trying once, right?

So about ten days ago I ordered body glitter spray, which arrived in yesterday's mail. When I got home from work, I tried it out, both as a skin test and to see how much mess it would create. Control of the spray button was a little challenging. *shake* *spray* Nothing. *spray* Five flecks. *shake* *long spray* Nothing. Maybe I got a dud? *spray* HOLY CLEAVAGE SPARKLEBOMB!

Speaking of which, next time the find-your-stripper-name meme comes around, forget the street you grew up on, name of your first pet, and so on. I'm going with the last name Sparkelbaum.

Anyway, I cleaned up the blast zone and tried again for a more moderate effect, which I left on for four to five hours and then removed. The bathroom counter wiped clean with minimal effort. My clothes did get glittered, but not as much as I feared. And, although I haven't hit 24 hours yet, it appears that my skin is not reacting at all. Five bazillion skin allergies, but I handle glitter spray just fine. Go figure. I still wouldn't put it on my face, of course, but it should be fine for the intended purpose, or if I wanted to put it in my hair. Or Bryan.

I don't know that I'll actually use it. I may just revert to my plain t-shirts that make me invisible. Still, I now have one more viable option if I want to try to attract attention. Options are good. And that's the plan.

Not bad for a quiet Thursday evening at home, right?

Comments

( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
(Deleted comment)
collacentaur
Jan. 8th, 2010 10:24 pm (UTC)
...and yet, there's STILL ginger ale all over my damn desk now.

Why, thank you. I've been trying all day to figure out if this was actually as funny as I thought it was, or whether it was one of those things you just had to be there for. I'm pleased to have amused you.
hughcasey
Jan. 9th, 2010 12:23 am (UTC)

I am actually going to use the phrase "HOLY CLEAVAGE SPARKLEBOMB, BATMAN!" at the earliest opportunity! :-D

Glad that the panel helped you give some inspiration! I hope it helps!
collacentaur
Jan. 9th, 2010 12:47 am (UTC)
I'd love to hear how it goes over out of context. :-)
tristam
Jan. 9th, 2010 12:53 am (UTC)
Well I laughed out loud. :)
erinmuse
Jan. 8th, 2010 10:16 pm (UTC)
Nici, and that hardly counts, since she was also usually the source of it

Oh my heavens, yes.
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )