As promised a true story about my trip to Vegas this past November. I like to think of it as the perfect homage to my current boobs, may they rest in peace with only 6 more days to protect and serve.
A bit of back story:
1. Early on in life I started off with pair of breasts. They were a little lackluster, not sparkly, not cheerleader material as I noticed in 10th grade. But they were real. So, I would have been most happy with them had they been destined to stick around and do mundane tasks like sustain life for the child I always wanted. It was not to be. May they rest in peace and for the sake of this entry be called, Set 1.
2. At 31 years old, precisely 19 years into Set 1's existence the right one tried to kill me. She developed a decent sized triple negative malignant tumor and was immediately reduced to half her original size via what was the latest and greatest breast oncology had to offer, the lumpectomy. Followed by a couple of rounds of chemotherapy (I should dig for the bald photos shouldn't I?) and over 30 radiation treatments. (It sounds dramatic doesn't it?). In the end, I was left with a diagnosis of remission. Hooray. I was also left with a right breast that simply wouldn't hold a small prosthesis with the help of a good under wire bra. Gravity would tell you that this combo should have worked, but I am living proof to tell you it didn't. On more than one occasion I attended a business meeting eagerly expressing my opinions full of vim and vigor only to be horrified to notice 20 minutes later, " I gave that speech in front of a room full of people and the falsie is now wrapped around my neck." It was at this point three years into remission that I opted for reconstruction. It was paid for by my insurance company, It was perhaps, strong armed by my state's Bra Law. The result, which I am wearing right now for another 6 days shall now be known at "Set 2, The Girls". I'm sorry to see them go. I feel as though I've worked hard for them. They, in their glory days looked presentable in a bikini for heaven's sake. I wish I could say the same about my thighs. It's neither here nor there, I like "The Girls". However, as fate would have it they were only meant to serve for about 8 years.
If you are still reading...How The Girls Got Us $300 In Free Drinks In Vegas...
This summer, when we found out I was swimming in the BRCA 1 gene pool instead of inheiriting bone structure like Halle Berry, the Muffin Man was nice enough to invite me and a few dear friends to Vegas with him to tag along on a business trip. We would party, he would work. Who could turn this down? Looking back, it was a good consolation prize.
My friend L'Mac (pronounced El'Mac) needed to see Barry Manilow. No one else on the trip would acquiesce. I was feeling generous, just happy to be in Vegas, and off the cul-de-sac. It's all about perspective. I might have preferred a more trendy show, something from the 21st century, but L'Mac is a persuasive gal. We bought Manilow tickets at the Paris Hotel. The rest of the crew refused and agreed to meet at the bar afterwards. Manilow lip synced the whole gig and I needed a stiff one 2 hours later. Good God, what were we expecting? The little dude is about 70 years old.
After the show L'Mac and I belly up to the Paris Hotel bar. The others were to join us an hour later. The bartender is darling and asks us what we would like. We toss out a few drink orders and playfully say while rolling our eyes "We've been to the Manilow concert." He laughs and fills our order. As he comes to deliver that drink order he stops and says looking at me, "Wow, nice rack lady where'd you buy them? Local?"
L'Mac almost spit a vodka martini with blue cheese stuffed olives in his face. With her eyes saying to me, do you want to take this one or shall I? I gently turned to him and said,
"Yes, you like these girls? So do I. Just so you know The Girls have been purchased by the state of Indiana Bra Law circa 2004. You know the Bra Law right? The one that makes it illegal for insurance companies to deny health claims for breast cancer patients and their rights to reconstruction? They are nice, but I came by them the hard way."
I have to give the guy credit, he didn't miss a beat. He didn't apologize, he didn't stutter, he simply filled our order and came back to chat with us as if nothing happened. He was attentive without being obnoxious. He made some polite and some impolite jokes as our friends and spouses joined us over the course of the night. An hour later he said he had to leave, his shift was done. We tipped him out, commenting he was more entertaining than the show we'd seen. Then we got a new server.
When it came time to leave, our party had grown to at least 6. We had been there for ahem, a while. When we asked for the bar bill to pay it upon leaving the new bartender told us...no, your bill is paid.
I turned to L'Mac. "Holy Cow, that bartender paid our huge tab. My boobs got us a free night in Vegas!"
I love these people that get "it". My friends, strange bartenders in Vegas, my kids, family members willing to sign up for a rather tough week, my darling muffin man.
I salute you "The Girls". Thanks for the good times.