Allison allowed her to be herded out of the cold and inside the doorway by the stout old woman.
"My apologies for the wait at the door. I'm so busy, was not planning on taking in new customer. But I see you outside and am thinking you must be in need of my service. Please. Come, sit."
Ulyana busied herself with clearing off the bolts of fabric piled on a chair. It didn't seem that there was any horizontal surface in the house that wasn't heaped with bolts of cloth, spools, patterns, and the occasional overflowing ashtray. Adding to the clutter were yellowing fashion drawings and black and white photography plastering the walls. Even the air was laden with smells. There was a powerful reek of stale cigarette smoke at war with slow cooked cabbage and pork coming from the kitchen.
Ulyana herself was a stout and forceful looking lady with steel gray hair half hidden under a kerchief and a lively step. The image of her waiting in a long line for potatoes entered her brain and would not leave.
"Sit, sit. You look about to be dying carrying those around."
Sitting was always a more attractive alternative to standing. But by taking her seat, Allison caused a mushroom cloud style explosion of dust from the long disused chair. She doubled over in a fit of sneezing that shook her entire frame.
"Ack, never so much time for cleaning. Always busy with orders. Forgive this old woman."
Allison was still sputtering and sniffling from the dust in her nose. "It's fine, really. I was just hoping you could help me with a new bra. I've been told you were the best around."
Ulyana seemed to puff up a bit upon hearing the compliment. "Very much so. It was plain to me of your need. Pain written deep on your face like book. I can help."
"Great!" Allison handed her a notecard with her measurements. "So when can I come back to pick it up?"
"What is this?" Ulyana studied the card and flung it into a pile of sewing supplies behind her. "No no no. Please, do not insult my work, cannot start with garbage measure. Take off coat and sweater."
Allison had hoped to avoid disrobing in front of the stranger, but accepted that it might be necessary. She checked to make sure the curtains were closed before standing and removing her coat. Then she hoisted the stretched out hem of her sweater over her bosom. Even with her bra on she felt naked and vulnerable as she listened the old woman circling her. Her eyes were shut. She could never bear seeing that look from the initial reaction.
"Feh!" The exclamation was followed by a string of what could only be curses in Russian.
Allison opened her eyes as she felt the hands of the old woman tracing the ridges of double stitching, the expansive foam padded cups, metal grommets, the wide padded straps that dug cruelly into her shoulders. They read the hooks and velcro panels, the buckles and snaps that dotted her back like braille. Her scowl was deepening. Her face was beet red.
"Fools. I spit on them and curse the names of the people responsible for this terrible... contraption. Is designed by engineer behind desk, not tailor. Knows how to build strong bridge to drive heavy trucks over, yes. What do they know of crafting bra for support, eh? Nothing. I weep for your breasts that they have to endure this prison. My husband of twenty years die in kinder gulag."
Allison was a little shocked. The doctor that fitted her for her current support device was more concerned with the size and weight of her actual breasts. The bra was always more of an afterthought. And as her breasts had gotten bigger, her bras had gotten bulkier and more uncomfortable, less stylish and increasingly industrial. Allison didn't know quite what to say. Ulyana did.
"Remove bra, hide under coat so is not making me so angry. We must measure."
"My husband of twenty years die in kinder gulag." What a WONDERFUL sentence. It haunts me. It says SO much about Ulyana. Your writing is equal to your wonderful drawing.
I kinda think you should stick to writing, but then where would I get uber big boobs like these! Oh and, FAT CHICKS RULE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! no really, you should do some WG.
Wow, I literally cannot read Ulyana in any voice other than June Foray's. Well done. (For those not in the know: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/June_Foray )
"My apologies for the wait at the door. I'm so busy, was not planning on taking in new customer. But I see you outside and am thinking you must be in need of my service. Please. Come, sit."
Ulyana busied herself with clearing off the bolts of fabric piled on a chair. It didn't seem that there was any horizontal surface in the house that wasn't heaped with bolts of cloth, spools, patterns, and the occasional overflowing ashtray. Adding to the clutter were yellowing fashion drawings and black and white photography plastering the walls. Even the air was laden with smells. There was a powerful reek of stale cigarette smoke at war with slow cooked cabbage and pork coming from the kitchen.
Ulyana herself was a stout and forceful looking lady with steel gray hair half hidden under a kerchief and a lively step. The image of her waiting in a long line for potatoes entered her brain and would not leave.
"Sit, sit. You look about to be dying carrying those around."
Sitting was always a more attractive alternative to standing. But by taking her seat, Allison caused a mushroom cloud style explosion of dust from the long disused chair. She doubled over in a fit of sneezing that shook her entire frame.
"Ack, never so much time for cleaning. Always busy with orders. Forgive this old woman."
Allison was still sputtering and sniffling from the dust in her nose. "It's fine, really. I was just hoping you could help me with a new bra. I've been told you were the best around."
Ulyana seemed to puff up a bit upon hearing the compliment. "Very much so. It was plain to me of your need. Pain written deep on your face like book. I can help."
"Great!" Allison handed her a notecard with her measurements. "So when can I come back to pick it up?"
"What is this?" Ulyana studied the card and flung it into a pile of sewing supplies behind her. "No no no. Please, do not insult my work, cannot start with garbage measure. Take off coat and sweater."
Allison had hoped to avoid disrobing in front of the stranger, but accepted that it might be necessary. She checked to make sure the curtains were closed before standing and removing her coat. Then she hoisted the stretched out hem of her sweater over her bosom. Even with her bra on she felt naked and vulnerable as she listened the old woman circling her. Her eyes were shut. She could never bear seeing that look from the initial reaction.
"Feh!" The exclamation was followed by a string of what could only be curses in Russian.
Allison opened her eyes as she felt the hands of the old woman tracing the ridges of double stitching, the expansive foam padded cups, metal grommets, the wide padded straps that dug cruelly into her shoulders. They read the hooks and velcro panels, the buckles and snaps that dotted her back like braille. Her scowl was deepening. Her face was beet red.
"Fools. I spit on them and curse the names of the people responsible for this terrible... contraption. Is designed by engineer behind desk, not tailor. Knows how to build strong bridge to drive heavy trucks over, yes. What do they know of crafting bra for support, eh? Nothing. I weep for your breasts that they have to endure this prison. My husband of twenty years die in kinder gulag."
Allison was a little shocked. The doctor that fitted her for her current support device was more concerned with the size and weight of her actual breasts. The bra was always more of an afterthought. And as her breasts had gotten bigger, her bras had gotten bulkier and more uncomfortable, less stylish and increasingly industrial. Allison didn't know quite what to say. Ulyana did.
"Remove bra, hide under coat so is not making me so angry. We must measure."