Getting dressed for the Victoria Secret bombshell event was a stressful affair. I stood in the mirror trying on things with a bra and then without a bra. I looked sideways to check the double breast, bent over to get a view of the cleave, evaluated whether my nipples were too perma-hard to go braless and bounced up and down to see how my small breasts moved. Why? I don’t know. It was a major waste of time. I ended up flinging the bra across room and just letting the babes be free. Heading to a lingerie party, I felt oddly satisfied with my secret titty rebellion.
The trek over was 140 degrees and I apparently wore the worst type of fabric when it comes to sweat stains: 100% Cotton APC dress in emerald green. I blared The Beach Boys and ran-walked fourteen blocks along Queen West, simultaneously checking my pits every 2 minutes. Yikes! Why did I wear this!!?
Upon arrival, I quickly ducked into Spoke washroom to cool myself down. While I splashed water on my face, and fretted about my sweat, I wondered how many people had screwed in that washroom? I bet lots.
I ascended to the roof and did my usual zig-zag of hellos, “Nice shoes!” and “OMG, it’s sooooo sunny!” I gave people penguin hugs, to ensure my damp underarms weren’t revealed.
Victoria Secret Angel Doutzen Kroes was circulating. The stunning Dutch model is six years younger than I, just had a baby, and looked gorgeous, as one would expect an angel to. I should have talked to her, I should have asked her what it’s like to get paid to take your clothes off, but I was feeling self-conscious, hot and bothered. Instead, I just stared, eavesdropped and shuffled around the rooftop sipping pink lemonade.
Like any good party, there were stations: A make-up station, hand massage station, vodka station and an island in the middle displaying summer fragrances to test. While I spritzed on a VERY SEXY SUMMER (Watchout boyzzz, I’m going to entice you!) I gazed at the bodacious mannequin ass wearing brightly coloured skivvies. I always need new undies and I want an ultra girly bikini this summer to go with US magazines, chilled white wine and my bubblegum pink pedicure.
A lot of guests raved on about the Victoria Secret self-tanner and one even commented, “It’s the only time my mother thinks I’m beautiful.” Oh.
After I did the circuit three times, I left and ran to Sadie’s diner for some gluten-free Buckwheat pancakes. By then, the wet stains had disappeared and I was content to hide away in a cool place and drizzle syrup on my breakfast dinner.