boobs?

i did it for the first time this morning.  i flashed our executive vice president.  our extremely conservative, married with three children, passive and soft-spoken evp.  woops.


i felt pretty confident getting ready this morning without fear of a potential wardrobe malfunction.  black pencil skirt hitting just above the knee, freshly dry-cleaned white blouse with a smidgen of ruffle-age tucked in under a sharp-looking three-button blazer.  totally pulled together.  or so i thought.

apparently, while reviewing some notes i had taken regarding potential client targets, something went awry.  focused on my strategic description, my evp quietly interrupted me with, "amy, i don't want to interrupt you, but your blouse..."  i looked down and realized that my blouse, which buttons only up to my mid breast-plate, had indeed formed itself into the perfect picture frame for my between-the-boobs area. "no, not embarassed at all," (as I sit back and try not to blush, watching him do the same), "where were we?"  i had lost all previous composure, but tried to play through it.

back at my desk now, safely facing only my laptop and shelving, i peer down and contemplate what he may have seen.  i certainly wouldn't call it cleavage.  safely between a b and c cup, the ladies don't often cuddle.  the space between is more bone than boobage, nothing to block my view all the way down to my belly button.

i understand that it is generally not a sound professional decision to show skin in the office, but really.  could the view i accidentally shared have really been so offensive?

there are some women whose cleavage in a boat neck top is greater than mine in a bikini.  for these women, as long as their nipples are covered they are often-times a.o.k.  their ladies are not to be restrained by anything less than a turtleneck.  for others of us whose boobettes are more modest, we can generally get away with the trendiest of necklines without appearing like desperate flirts.  perhaps this freedom has allowed me to fall prey to comfort in wearing what, at first glance, appears to be a modest, work-friendly button-up.

we have a group lunch today, a birthday celebration for someone in the office.  i peer down again and debate how to keep my wild bone-action tamed.  shall i lean far back in my chair, chin back, and attempt to bring fork to mouth without spilling too much on my lap?  should i hold a hand to my chest as if either (a) pledging allegiance or (b) utterly breathtaken by our workplace chatter, or should i let my mid-boob-bone do the talking?  whatever my strategy, i can guarantee my evp will not opt to sit across from me.

i sure wish beer were socially acceptable at workday lunchtime.