I was having a conversation with a friend the other day. She’s previously from NYC, and was pretty much a Queen at going out. She and her friends would partake in “shortest skirt” competitions, get vodka in water bottles from club owners after closing, and wear shirts that rival, or just plain blow GoldDust’s latest fashions out of the water on controversial.
The other day, when I told her about my #AlternaPurse hashtag, and in effect, my storing of personal effects in my sock, she told me this tidbit:
“Bars in New York are so different. You could get searched more intensely than when you were in line to board a plane. Girls would get up to bouncers and be asked to pull their bras away from their bodies.”
I must have a questioning look on my face.
“Well,” she explains. “That’s a popular place to store like drugs and things.”
After thinking more about it, I realize that she’s right and not only that, I’ve done it. You probably have too [if you have boobs, and they’re the kind of boobs that need a bra]. Granted, I’ve never stored drugs in there, but I’ve stuck my credit card in there, and my phone when I’ve needed both hands for other things…
- Breaking the seal
If I had done this on that particular night when I was robbed out of my back pocket, maybe I’d never have lost that $43.11.
One other night in fact:
Macy and I are heading downtown. We’ve dolled up to end all dolling up. I look adorable, if I do say so myself. We park the car and are touching up make up when it happens.
“Want me to hold your license and stuff?” I ask Macy. The shorts I’m rocking don’t have a back pocket, so I’ve been forced to carry a purse.
“That’d be great,” Macy replies. She’s wearing a dress — even less chance of having pockets. She goes to grab her id and — “Shit. I can’t find it.”
We search. We search like there is no tomorrow. I am pulling Boo’s car seat and toys out of my car and setting them on the curb in the quest for the lost license. Finally, we realize, it can’t be there. My car has eaten her license.
“Let’s just go,” Macy decides. We’re heading to our regular bar anyway — the doorman Security knows us. So we start walking, and miraculously, they let us in without her id.
We’re dancing and enjoying ourselves when something jostles Macy.
“What’s wrong?!” I ask her, startled.
She holds up her id. She found it. “It was in my bra!” She declares.
Thus, we come to the present day — where I’m getting heckled for having stored things in a sock. Would they have been safer in the cleave? Probably. Suppose things hadn’t fallen out, after all, I might have had my identity stolen. Or my money stolen. Or never gotten into contact with the man of the business card. Terrible things could have happened.
Oh. Wait. Terrible things have happened: it’s called the JoeyBra.
Yes. Someone is making money off of this. They are taking our drunken abilities to shove random items into our bras and charging us for it. Not only that. Now that this is such a well known, common concept, people are looking into all implications of the cleavage storage system causing us breast cancer.
For many young women today, tucking cell phones in the bra has become a cool, hip way to have simple access to these essential devices. Most of us have no idea that cell phones are small microwave radios that should not be kept directly on the body.
The ways some people are using their phones today could increase their risk of developing breast cancer and other diseases tomorrow. Cell phone’s microwave radiation seeps directly into soft fatty tissue of the breast.
Geez, people. I had no idea this would turn into a diatribe about breast cancer. I’m sorry. But not really, because let’s face it – if you anything like me, you’ve done this. And now after reading this, there’s a solid chance that you won’t.
Conclusion: I’ve saved all your lives.