I know that my facial bones are more “Rambo” than “Audrey Hepburn” and there’s not much I can do about that, short-term. This plus a lack of feminine grace and a lack of boobies made for an awkward conversation about two years ago, at a junkyard that allowed ladies in for free but guys needed to pay a $2 entrance fee. I ended up holding up my official State of Nevada ID and pointing to the gender on it, that correctly showed “F.”
Yes, I’m a strange-looking girl but I AM a girl, dammit. Anyway, there wasn’t much hope for a conversation in which the girl speaks mostly British-colonial-accented English, and the guy speaks mostly Spanish. Not that I mind paying $2, but the principle of the thing bothered me. In addition to the booth guy being difficult, the security guard then also walked over to the booth, to chime in. He told me to hurry it up and move along. That made it an even less-nice experience.
So here’s a picture of me from last week, two years later, showing what I wore to that same entrance gate to that same junkyard.
The events of that day remind me of a story that a former colleague of mine told. She’s a pretty girl but quite flat-chested. A friend lent her some bra stuffers … what Charlize Theron calls “chicken cutlets worn by women who don’t have boobs” during an interview when she told the interviewer she wore those too. Anyway, armed with temporarily huge boobs, she went to a baseball game and came back to report: “these babies are POWER!!” and she proceeded to explain how differently males and (to her surprise, many females) treated her.
Anyway, no, I don’t have the money for breast implants but a good friend did donate $100 to me on the condition I use it on my boobs, so I bought a set of bra stuffers. Combined with the effects of a sports bra and my regular daily intake of feminizing hormones I now have for-real cleavage, and not the kind one draws in with an eyebrow pencil so it looks great in 2D and not in 3D.
So this last visit to the junkyard, I walked in, money in hand, offering to pay the entrance fee. Oh, no, the booth guy protested. No need for me to pay. Ladies come in free. About half a dozen guys stood around beaming at me. Then, the security guy walked over just like last time. Smiling at me, he wanted to make sure that the booth guy wasn’t going to charge me an entrance fee, and he instructed the booth guy accordingly, who proudly replied that he’d already figured all that out and wasn’t going to charge me anyway.