We spent Indiana’s flood weekend at the “Master’s graduate” daughter’s house. I have two daughters and it sounds rather mean to say the “good” daughter and the “bad” daughter. I could say the “educated” daughter and the “brainwashed” daughter, which would be a very appropriate description, but then I would have to refer everyone to my FLDS blogs and who wants to go there again?
That would also lead to using the terms, the “happy” daughter and the “daughter in the long dress and head covering, who is not allowed to talk to me without her husband present and who rarely smiles”, but that just makes for an awkward sentence structure and I’m trying to impress editors with this blog. So, we’ll stick with “Master’s daughter”, at least for now.
The excuse for this visit was grandson’s high school graduation. His gift request was for us to come and play a ton of board and card games. The kid is a cheap date, if you don’t count the price of gas. Actually, he wanted me to bring the people who will play games, as I don’t usually play.
Our oldest boy was missing at Christmas time last year when we visited. We hadn’t actually lost him. He lives in Santa Fe, NM now. Graduate grandson, really missed the usual noisy game fest. The daughter and I noticed that it was much quieter than normal at her house last Christmas, without oldest boy. But, it was not something you want to bring up in front of her super-sized husband.
Super-sized husband is tall. I look way up at him and my arms do not go around super-sized son-in-law for a goodbye hug. His personality is super-sized also. He has been known to wear a tutu into Walmart. Not on a regular basis, thank goodness, but after he found it necessary to wear one for a play. Things like that do not bother super-sized son-in-law. If you brought the incredibly delicious “quiet” issue up in front of him, he would create an end of the world vortex that would swallow all silence in its mass.
So Master’s daughter and I sat and enjoyed the quiet and the high-speed access she has. It is a huge treat, for me, almost greater than South Bend Dark Chocolate Truffles. I need to add that we had been dipping into a bucket of Strawberry Margaritas with Jose Cuervo. It was a large dipper. The graduate daughter does not need Jose Cuervo to find humor in the world. But, it sure makes things interesting.
It was right after Master’s daughter realization that the dining/game room was again a hub of noise and that the only difference was our oldest boy being there and not in Santa Fe. Hence he must be the source of all noise. Then Master’s daughter, turns from her laptop to me and says that she has a burning question that has been puzzling her.
I had been showing my “Master’s graduate” daughter about blogging. I, with a mere Bachelor’s degree, am excited to be able to show her about blogging. Especially since a month ago, I had to have the blogger, Nathan Bransford, Literary agent, post my first ever response to a blog, as I could not figure out how to do it. So, I say, “Yes, daughter, I have shown you blogging, now may I explain what a Black Hole is to you, perhaps how to multiply fractions? What is your burning question?”
Daughter, looks up from her computer and states, “I have been wondering, just exactly what are the job qualifications for a bust measurer for Victoria’s Secret?”
It is no longer quiet in the front room, as I wipe tears from my eyes and am laughing so hard I almost spill a precious drop of my strawberry daiquiri into my keyboard. At this point, the men in the dining/game room tell us to keep the noise down.
Having never been in a Victoria’s Secret store, it takes some time for me to figure out what the heck she is talking about. I know about the catalogue. So, I have visions of placing an order and having them sending people out to your house to measure you. This brings visions to my mind of someone sending Viggo Mortensen out to measure me and where that might lead. I am often distracted by those visions or Viggo (His name is even perfect), but my visions of him do not usually involve a tape measure.
She bursts my bubble and explains that, at the store, they greet you at the door with a tape measure around their neck and a bag. I am confused. A bag? For your breasts? Perhaps I should not have had the last dipper full. She says that the bag is for all the goodies you want to buy. Then they immediately ask you if you want them to measure your breasts.
She continues, “I mean, what is the job title? Would you be a Bust Calibrator? I am sure experience is preferred. Are warm hands a requirement? Do you have to know metrics for the European office? And, what educational level is needed. Is a Master’s degree a plus?”
I ask if she is looking for a new job. “No, but what if a person with one arm applies for the job? Does the ACLU get upset if you don’t hire that person? Is a Bust Calibrator covered by the disability act? Does he use double sided tape to hold the end of the tape measure or does he get to hold it in his teeth? And, how many tape measures does Dolly Parton need?
At this point graduating grandson comes in to see if we have finally gone around the bend permanently.
“And, what happens when there is a one boob woman. Do you compensate by doubling the measurement?”
Graduating grandson leaves the front room, shaking his head.
“What happens if they have not shaved. The Breast Calibrator says, ‘Lift your arms please.’ And, euw! Wouldn’t you be distracted by the hair, if they haven’t shaved? Do you have to tell them to remove their nipple rings, please.”
I don’t remember much of the rest of Friday evening. I think I had another dipper full. I am sure that we will both be banned from Victoria Secret’s stores; especially because we will never be able to enter one without falling on the floor laughing when they ask to measure our breasts.
Read Full Post »