Arggh!! Not more than 30 seconds after picking up my "coffee-something-ino" drink from Starbucks tonight, I get chocolate syrup on my sweater. I didn't order anything with chocolate (I'm a caramel gal), but, for some reason, my chest is a magnet for attention.
Being chest-endowed definitely helped out while in Japan. (And yes, I'm working on a story about being a Western woman in patriarchal Japan.) It prevented me from purchasing any clothing, however, it came in handy when asking directions or making conversation with the opposite sex. I was a bit self-conscious about it at first. Walking down sidewalks and watching men trying to sneak peaks, from businessmen in suits to on-duty police officers. Maybe I was a novelty, after all, we were in a part of Japan where not many Westerners travel to.
I even offered some entertainment for the Japanese women. As a team, we were treated to a tour of a kimono-fashion school then dressed in full, silk kimonos. My dressing gals giggled and smiled as they patted my breasts. I giggled along with them. Later in the day, I found myself in a sleeve-like a sleeping bag, but it constricted like a snake. A towel was wrapped around my top and my girl patted my chest and smiled. "Yes," I replied, "big." Of course, we shared a giggle.
Then there was the onsen experience. Japanese bathing. (Yet, another in depth story is in the wings to be written). It's done, well, "ne-ked." For many young Japanese girls, I was the first Westerner they've seen, none the less, naked. I found them coming up to me and checking me out like I was a newly discovered creature on display at the zoo. I had been warned by other Western woman that some Japanese women will check the Western women out to see if it's true whether the 'plumbing' runs the opposite way. I doubt these little girls knew about "plumbing," but they did recognize that I looked different.
And here I sit. Another evening at Starbucks, trying to pat out the chocolate sauce so not to attract attention to my bustiness.