This is a true story.
His name was Otto Titsling.
What happened to Otto Titsling shouldn't happen to a schnauzer.
It's a very sad story. I feel I have to share it with you.'
Otto Titsling, inventor and kraut,
had nothing to get very worked up about.
His inventions were failures, his future seemed bleak.
He fled to the opera at least twice a week.
One night at the opera he saw an Aida
who's t-ts were so big they would often impede her.
Bug-eyed he watched her fall into the pit,
done in by the weight of those terrible t-ts.
Oh, my god! There she blows!
Aerodynamically this bitch was a mess.
Otto eyeballed the diva lying comatose amongst the reeds,
and he suddenly felt the fire of inspiration
flood his soul. He knew what he had to do!
He ran back to his workshop
where he futzed and futzed and futzed.
For Otto Titsling had found his quest:
to lift and mold the female breast;
to point the small ones to the sky;
to keep the big ones high and dry!
Every night he'd sweat and snort
searching for the right support.
He tried some string and paper clips.
Hey! He even tried his own two lips!
Well, he stitched and he slaved
and he slaved and he stitched
until finally one night, in the wee hours of morning,
Otto arose from his workbench triumphant.
Yes! He had invented the worlds first
over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. Hooray!
Exhausted but ecstatic he ran
down the street to the diva's house
bearing the prototype in his hot little hand.
Now, the diva did not want to try the darn thing on.
But, after many initial misgivings,
she finally did.
And the sigh of relief that issued forth
from the diva's mouth
was so loud that it was mistaken by some
to be the early onset of the Siroccan Winds
which would often roll through the Schwarzwald
with a vengeance!
Ahhhhh-i!
But little did Otto know,
at the moment of his greatest triumph,
lurking under the diva's bed
was none other than the very worst
of the French patent thieves,
Philippe DeBrassiere.
And Phil was watching the scene
with a great deal of interest!
Later that night, while our Brun Hilda slept,
into the wardrobe Philippe softly crept.
He fumbled through knickers and corsets galore,
'til he found Otto's titsling and he ran out the door.
Crying, 'Oh, my god! What joy! What bliss!
I'm gonna make me a million from this!
Every woman in the world will wanna buy one.
I can have all the goods manufactured in Taiwan.'
'Oh, thank you!'
The result of this swindle is pointedly clear:
Do you buy a titsling or do you buy a brassiere?
-Beaches (Bette Midler)
----------------------------------------
The Real Story:
In an attempt to minimize my hips and thighs I have subsequently sacrificed my heaving boosom (if anyony would ever call an A-cup heaving, that is). Small breasts are a genetic "gift" that has been passed through my family, and while mine have always been small, all the running I have done over the past couple years have left me prepubescently endowed. I traded Victoria's Secret for Johnson & Johnson. An entire "box of bras" for $2.99.
You can't beat that :)
But as I was sharing photos of the bridesmaid's dress I will be wearing in my BFF's wedding my aunt inquired about my intended undergarments. And when I shrugged innocently, she seized the moment to fulfill a mother/daughter moment she was never privledged enough to enjoy as the mother of an "only son".
She took me bra shopping.
And not just at the mall or target,
but to a boutique where I was wisked into a dressing room,
spun around,
and investigated with a quick peak down the front of my dress.
45 seconds flat. (no pun intended)
and the attendant turned on her heels and announced she would return promptly.
Enter attendant holding ONE black strapless bra:
(in past experiences I have tried armloads of bras with NO positive outcome)
Instructions on placement, shimmy-ing, bending, and lifting, and...
Ta-Da!!!! I was in. To my amazement and my aunt's delight I had been transformed into a "real girl". It actually fit.
And when my aunt inquired about its size and cut the attendant excitedly reported that, while it looked good now, it still had room for me to "grow" and that I should return in a few months when I needed a larger size. Laughing hysterically I concluded the sale announcing that I had given up all hope on that ever happening. She attempted to console me, informing me that at my age I was still developing and not to give up hope.
My aunt bust out laughing and fitfully explained that I was about to be twenty-nine. I thought I was going to have to break out my driver's license.
Too hilarious.
P.S. Earlier that day my aunt's co=worker called me "sweet-girl" and asked me how I was enjoying my "summer vacation". Apparently this trip agrees with me...I've regressed back to highschool :)
And my uncle downloaded Juno for me because he thinks I look like Ellen Page. How old is she ?! :)
