The Almond Wars or why I can't dress myself

I really didn't know I had big boobs till Ia's photo shoot. I'm serious! I mean I know they got bigger when I was nursing the kids but I was usually far too interested in OTHER people's boobs to pay much attention to mine. Pete was happy and that was about the extent of my concern. I did (do??-- I don't get that drunk anymore) have a bad habit of flashing people. It was (is?) my deviant super power. But over the weekend I was far far far too self conscious. I thought about the girls so much I am still thinking about them and it seems they are doomed to be the warm up exercise for today's writing. This rambling tirade is all the purple cote's fault. When I first started playing in the SCA I inherited a beeeutiful lavender cotehardie from my evil twin Paula. It fits as if it were painted on; s'got tippets and a train-- the whole schmeer, and I love it.
So Saturday morning, we are suiting up and I decide to opt for full mundainties (bra and panties). I am generally "skin out" (which means all garments are authentic to the period I am trying to portray) but it was chilly and the modern understuff seemed to be the right choice...nobody wants to be all nipply in front of daKing--EXCEPT and oh dear reader this is where the intro ends and I begin to share three booby anecdotes.

The purple cote is constructed to support things that need support without modern undergarments--yeah like you care--SO I have an underwire bra and this stripe of armor like buttons all converging in the same spot, that is the apex of the cleavage. I figure I am gonna be lit on Scotch soon enough and disregard the slight annoyance this could cause. I struggle with which belt to wear (cuz ya need a belt cuz there ain't no pocketses) give up on the belt entirely (all it did was accent the pudge roll--not pretty. and I figured seems how I am already wearing rayon stockings, mundainties and NO VEIL... well I won't be getting a Laurel for Costuming anytime soon ya know? feh..I am here to watch people beat each other up and drink with my girls..LET'S GO!
We parade through the foyer of the hotel and only one guy took a picture with his cell phone of the 14th century freaks. I get all the skirts and tippets tucked into the truck and we depart. About ten minutes down the road I realize that no amount of Scotch is gonna numb me to the annoyance that is trying to reverse alien itself into my chest. The seatbelt is now forcing the buttons to press the underwires directly into my tender skin. OWIE. Fidget. Squirm. I ask Pete to reach down the back of the gown and unclasp the bra. (Yes we are driving.) The damn cote is too tight and he can't get his arm down my back. So I sit there entangled in the seat belt, the tippets, & the sleeve of my chemise. I am wrestling around like there is a bee in my bonnet when I look into the review mirror of the guy in the pick up truck in front of us. Well, doesn't he have a nice smile. GRRRRR!! Eyes on the road dude. FINALLY I get one bra strap down below my elbow and I can complete the maneuver any woman out of high school can master. I remove the bra without removing the clothes. INSTANT RELIEF.

We get to the event and go thru Troll at which point the lack of a belt is now a bigger concern. I now have a spiffy girdle book for a site token! But no belt! Think outside the box girl! I tied it to a tippet. Success! It is my lucky day. I start skipping around and hugging people I haven't seen in months and I see Hrodir. I leap into his chest and he hugs me hard! YAY!
Happy greetings of kissy cheeks!! and we start to pull back and Hrodir's scale armor has wedged in between my buttons. Um--this is bad. His cuirass and my cote had plans they didn't inform us of! So I am basically velcro-ed to Hrodir's chest and he is laughing like the brat he is! Finally, he lifts me back up and off the armor and I try to assess damage. I had envisioned the individual metal scales slicing the already straining button threads--happily damage was non-existent. WHEW.

Astute readers may recall I mentioned THREE boob stories, we covered the bra removal incident, then the Velcro Saga and now it is time for the Almond Wars. There is another boob related anecdote--but "Muddling" deserves it's own entry.

A certain Duke I know and love was snacking on cherry tomatoes Friday night. I'm not sure why or how but some how I ended up trying to catch the tomatoes in my cleavage. It was funny. All was well. Saturday afternoon, same Duke different ammo. We had a dish of almonds that everybody was munching on and suddenly there was an Almond trying to go down my top. Are they really that distracting? My boobs--not the Almonds.

I was surprised and laughed nervously (where was daKing anyway?) but then it seemed as if I had stumbled into a swarm of flying Almonds and the mom frowny face did not evoke the cease and desist I had hoped for, in fact now all three guys (including the first two I should have been able to call upon for aide!!) standing there had Almonds. EEP! I lobbed a couple back and immediately realizing I was out numbered I glanced about for reinforcements. AH! Thomas!! and Hrodir!!. I retreated. I skipped up to my potential saviours and said. "Look Fierce!" They both scowled over my head back at the Almond chuckers. "I need back up in the Almond wars." Both noble knights stepped in front of me, we hustled back into the fray at which point my lord husband realizing I no longer wanted to be the back board CLAIMS to have settled the issue of my assault with a victorious thumb war. Sensing that I was Not satisfied with that meager revenge, Thomas insisted that I be able to have a couple free throws at the mischievous Duke, I plunked an Almond right on his nose and felt vindicated. END of the ALMOND WAR. We jokingly trash talked that Feast would have more potential for food fight-y ness, but we never did get there...Too bad--the brie stuffed eggs had potential.