Pardon me while I scratch my boob… 

I find it mildly disturbing when women go rooting around for fallen bra straps in public.  Yes, I’m well aware that it happens, and sometimes you just really need to retrieve that wayward strap, but some ladies are just a little too obvious about it.  Here’s an example:  a supervisor I had in Texas was a lovely woman, always perfectly made-up and well dressed.  She was also a fan of flashy undergarments as was often demonstrated when she went strap spelunking in public, in the lab, in mixed company.  It mortified the guys much more than the women, but please!!!!  Couldn’t she have done that in her office, a whole 10 feet away? 

This falls into the similar category of guys scratching/adjusting their “basket” in public.  At the same university, we had a post-doc that would forever wander into our lab to ask for something while happily scratching away at the boys.  WTF???   

It’s not a generational thing either, because we used to have an older electrician here at work that had a similar habit.  Jimmie was old, stout, scruffy and always dressed in cowboy boots, overalls, and a cowboy hat.  He also smoked like a chimney and would frequently be seen smokin’, scratchin’, and coughin’, all at the same time.  He was one of our facility EMTs, and the ladies all had a pact – if any of us were dying, and Jimmie was the EMT that showed up first?  Just let us die! 

But I digress. 

Yesterday I attended a seminar at work featuring two invited speakers.  The room was filled with my scientific colleagues as well as the staff from one of our animal facilities.  Because the presentation was of professional interest to my husband, he too was invited to attend.  Said husband was a little late in arriving, so I waited for him outside in the sunshine in order to sign him in and escort him to the proper room. 

Once in the room, I felt a little tickle on the right side of my neck.  I couldn’t feel anything there, so I guessed that a loose hair had fallen back there or something.  The presentation was on-going. 

My right boob started to itch.  Really, REALLY itch. 

Not the appropriate location for a scratch, so I tried very hard to ignore it.  The itch continued.  I’m sure you ladies out there understand when I state I did what low-key shoulder adjusting I could to move things around in there.  The itch got worse.  I tried the old “hug your notepad up close to your chest and squeeze really hard in the hopes that whatever is in there poking your nipple will move” routine.  It didn’t help either. 

Normally when this sort of thing happens, it’s because I’ve fed the livestock after showering and gotten some hay or bedding blown into my underwear.  That wasn’t the case that morning since I’d gotten the husband to do the chores.  I hadn’t been holding any recently clipped animals to get their hair in there, nor had I recently had my own hair cut, resulting in pointy little hairs ending up in uncomfortable places.  This one was a mystery.  

Talk about torture!  I finally couldn’t stand it anymore, excused myself and bolted to the nearest rest room.  

After getting my shirt out of the way and yanking open my bra, I spotted the culprit.  It was a 3.5mm black speck precisely at nipple level in my bra.  An unidentified piece of  crud/paint/thread?  No!  The damned thing started moving!  It was a thrip-like, weasally-looking little bug!!!  It must have been what I felt tickling my neck earlier, and I must have acquired in while standing out in the sun waiting for the husband – that will teach me… 

I picked the little f*cker out of there, gave myself a good long scratch, readjusted the girls, and exited the rest room like the dignified professional that I am. 

My sincerest hope is that everyone in the room simply thought I had to take a pee.