No Pants Sighting of the Day
Location: The Harp…allow me to elaborate. This is one of the “Garden bars”, a.k.a. the bars by the TD Garden, a.k.a. where the Celts and Bruins play, and where Lady Gaga has come once a year for the past two years to wreak havoc on the small fraction of dignified, pants-wearing folk we still have living in this city.
Offense: Let’s break down this outfit for a moment. There are no pants to be found. No pants have been entered into this equation. She put 2 and 2 together and it did not equal pants. But what is far more disturbing to me about this “outfit” (or as I like to call it, the remnants of the Christmas wrapping stock), is that there is also no top in sight. All I see is what can only be described as a boob sling. A boob sling, ladies and gentlemen, is much like a baby sling. It wraps around your front and tightly swaddles your little bundle of joy. The bundles of joy in this case are…the ta tas.
Verdict: For heaven’s sake, if your boobs are not broken, fractured or sprained in some way, do not put them in a sling. Because every time one of those suckers comes loose–which it inevitably will (and did, according to my eyewitnesses)–you have to scoop it up like a lump of silicone-flavored ice cream. There’s a much better cone to put that ice cream in…it’s called a bra. Top it with a shirt. Mmm, just like sprinkles.
Ribbons are good for several things: wrapping presents, rhythmic gymnastics, and adorning the fake ponytails belonging to adolescent cheerleaders. But the last thing I want to do is untie some ribbon and have your fun bags fall into my lap.
