by Catheryn Brockett (January 2013)
I’ve booked a small part on a major medical drama and I’m in my car on Laurel Canyon when I get the call from wardrobe.
“I’d like to go over your sizes,” wardrobe guy says.
“Sure.” And I answer him – height 5’2”, weight, about 123, shoe size 7, pants…I know the next question – it’s going to be “bust” so I attempt to just say it as if I’m simply giving him the answer to his next question, “and I’m going through a breast reconstruction, for cancer, so one of my boobs is a lot bigger than the other, so I’m not sure what my old size card says – probably 34B, but I’m sporting a C… well, a D, a C/D rack these days. A ‘D’ I guess, for all intents and purposes… ”
I keep talking, like it’s going to help. “Righty is still a B – but I had a gummy boob for the audition – so I’m sure it’s fine, but…”
I’m hoping really hard he is one of those gay, uninterested, couldn’t be less impressed with any variety of breasts, – “even if you covered it in Christmas glitter and shook it in my face, – I’ve seen it all honey,” – kind of wardrobe guys.
And what am I supposed to say? I didn’t get a manual when I got the lump. Okay, I did get a stack of medical literature – I didn’t read it – how far in advance did I need to know that part of the reconstructive process would involve having to have the breast in question stretched to the enormous and surreal proportions of 600 cc’s – the size of a baby’s head – and I would have to wear this atrocity around town like a football in a skin bra for 2½ months. That, along with the awkward reality that my other boob, at best an unenthusiastic B, which was fine before – that is why God invented Victoria’s Secret push-up bras. But now – now, next to her impossibly high and round sister, she looked dejected, pendulous. I name them “Porn Boob and Sad Banana.”
Wardrobe guy says “ok, well, you’ll be wearing scrubs – so it probably won’t matter.”
Oh, criminy – TMI – maybe I didn’t have to mention it.
When I show up for my fitting I see my info tacked up on the board – under “bust” it says 34 – then the B is crossed out, then it says C – slash – D, then it’s circled with an arrow pointing to a note in all caps: “PLEASE ASK TOM.”