rinue | like the prow of a ship

My first meeting with James (

narcolepticcat, for whoever's counting) was after an experimental theater show in which he had performed, and which would later grow to eat about a year of my life. At the time, I was just the documentarian - and the wife of the technical director. This was nevertheless enough to let me stick around for the cast party, drinking wine, eating cheese and crackers, and feeding off the buzz of the show.

The discussion turned to odd and fairly useless talents, of which James' was the best. To wit: he can tell you a woman's bra size by glancing at her, despite his being male, and gay, and not to my knowledge an experienced bra fitter. To prove his mastery, he went around the room, never with any doubt, never a mistake. We later turned this into a play, "The Great Bra-tini," in which he acted like a swami or fortune teller, a carnival barker con man supernaturally divining the measurements of women in the audience; we finally abandoned the piece because it didn't have a flashy enough conclusion.

It impressed me every time.

However, when it came to James estimating my own measurements, I had to go on faith that he was right; I hadn't purchased a new bra in four to six years, due to a combination of poverty and disinterest - when you're bigger than a B cup, most bras seem built to minimize you, or to keep your breasts industrially restrained so they cannot escape and terrorize the populace.

Yesterday, I finally forced myself to go and, for God's sake, buy a bra I don't fall out of. This took something like three hours. However! However I now have a bra which is comfortable and also makes my breasts look like my breasts and not a stylized version of someone else's breasts! (Thank you, Heidi Klum.) And I would just like to say:

34 D.

You were right.

James, you're amazing.