Last week I got a freebie because of my boobs. I find this totally curious, because they aren’t that big, or really that special in any way. They're fine, I guess, well proportioned and well suited to all of my other body parts, but not really something I consider that remarkable about my body, or really that interesting at all. Nothin’ to see here, guys, nothin’ to see…So, maybe it was my hair that got me the freebie? Or maybe a combination of the boobs and the hair? In any case, it happened on the commuter rail, going from Boston to Littleton.
I was thoroughly engrossed in my book (The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants) when the adolescent looking ticket collector made his grand entrance in car three of the 4:40 p.m. train to Littleton.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. By this point I was so caught up in the adventures of Tibby, Bridget, Lena and Carmen that I'd completely forgotten that trains are something you have to pay to ride. “I need to buy one, please. I’m going to Littleton.”
“Littleton’ll be five-fifty” he said, cheerfully.
‘He looks about 12 years old,’ I thought, 'Since when did the MBTA start violating child labor laws?' Of course, I had yet to go to the bank with the weekend’s installment of cold hard cash from my waitrssing job, and was left to wrestle through a fistful of disorganized twenties before I could find fives and ones.
‘On second thought, he’s at least 24,’ I decided as I my fingers plucked a five from my money pile. ‘He’s just one of those guys who looks way young. He is also short and has chubby cheeks which make him look young and vulnerable.’ I was just pulling out a 1 from my stash when the ticket guy blurted out:
“Oh, no, no…Five’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I’ve got the fifty cents. I've got it. Heh.”
“But, I’ve got it right here…” I started to say, stopping at “but…” when I looked up and saw his eager, smiling face. Truthfully, it was a little silly, I mean, I was holding the 1 dollar bill right there, in the same hand as the five I was about to pass across the aisle to him. But his smile seemed so earnest that I just shrugged instead.
“Okay, here’s five. Thanks!” ‘How nice,’ I thought to myself, and smiled at his back as he walked away.
Ready to become totally absorbed in the magical powers of the traveling pants, I looked back down at my book. As I glanced down, my gaze fell on the low, scooped neckline of my shirt.
Oh. So that's why hewas being so nice.
And that, folks, was a lesson I learned last week. That my modestly sized breasts exaggerated by a low-cut neckline, and coupled with my carefully dyed blonde hair, can get me 50 cents off a train ticket to Littleton.
Awesome. My boobs are worth fifty cents.