My friend Marie has always yearned for a more voluptuous figure. She’s tried every gimmick on the market in her attempt to display a more impressive profile.
Her undergarments are marvels of ingenuity and monuments to the art of optical illusion.
Her latest purchase is a bra padded with, according to the tag, paraffin oil. I don’t want to be the one to tell Marie that her bosom now smells like a bayberry candle.
The wicks are a bit distracting, but on the holidays she decorates them with silk floral candle rings.
Before the paraffin bra, Marie tried the aqua bra, padded with pouches of water. I was so intrigued that I decided to give that one a try.
Never one to do anything halfway, I bought the largest one I could find. Unlike normal bras, which are sized A, B, C, or D, I bought size Z, as in Zeppelin, because they were the size of dirigibles.
In order to support my new Dolly Parton-like physic, I hired a carpenter to construct wheeled scaffolding, which I pushed along in front of me like a flight attendant pushing a beverage cart.
An audible swishing sound accompanied me wherever I went. My co-workers would quizzically cock their heads and ask, “Is there a leaky pipe somewhere in the building?”
When I was a child, my parents refused to get me an aquarium; a loss for which I still harbor deep resentment. I mention this only because I now saw an opportunity to rectify that omission. Not only could I have an aquarium, but I could also carry it with me wherever I went.
As do most aquarium owners, I started small. Just a couple of goldfish and a few fronds of seaweed swaying gently in the current of my Z cups.
Things soon got out of hand.
I added a few angel fish, some coral, a sand castle, a heat lamp, and an oxygen pump. Now, in addition to the sloshing, my ample bosom hummed and gurgled cheerfully. A tiny treasure chest opened and closed, a plastic diver bobbed up and down, and a toy submarine rose and sank.
There was so much activity under my shirt that it looked like I was smuggling a cloth bag of kittens.
I realized that I had a problem when the tide rolled in. It threw off my balance and I began to list heavily to the aft, putting pressure on the legs of the scaffolding, which then buckled.
With a might groan, the aqua bra’s dam burst and a tidal wave flooded the office, carrying along desks, file cabinets, and a few secretaries.
It is a good thing that Marie floated by just as the power shorted out and the office went dark. I was able to light the wicks of her paraffin bra and use it to signal the rescue workers.