UNTASTY PASTIES

***Please note: “In case there’s any confusion caused by the title, “Pasties” are also a food item eaten in the UK and Australia.***

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“Matthew, you have to see this!”

“What is it now, Martha?”

“Well, can you get your nose out of the paper long enough to take a look?”

“Is it important? I’m reading an interesting editorial on climate control. Can it wait?”

“Matthew, if I wait for you to finish reading the paper, all those articles on climate control will be out of date. Besides, I will have already moved onto a million other stories on my iPad and I won’t be able to find this one again.”

“See, that’s why I read the newspaper. Newspaper stories stay in place forever. No problems finding them again.”

“Geez, you’re frustrating!”

“And you’re impatient. Hrrmmph!

“Oh, it’s just that this argument we keep having about the newspaper vs. iPad is getting old! Just let me show you this. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

“Martha, can’t you just use that bookmark thingy on your iPad and I can look at it later? Not to mention, you always remind me that what you’re reading in the online news today will probably be in our newspaper tomorrow. So how about I read it then?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I only want you to see these photos and trust me, you won’t see THESE pictures in our local paper tomorrow or anytime.”

“Why? Are they of naked women?”

“Close enough!”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ve never been one to pass up looking at gorgeous females. Oh, okay. Sorry. Stop rolling your eyes. Bring your whiz machine over here and let me see what you’re going on about.”

“It’s not a whiz machine Matthew. It’s an iPad. You always tell me to be specific and that ‘the English language is very precise’. So, if you’re going to be pedantic, I will be too.”

“Oh okay, okay.”

“Furthermore, unlike that boring old newspaper you’re reading, the articles on here are in glorious color. Not to mention that I can enlarge the print and the photos, and, unlike you, I don’t have to wear two pairs of magnifying glasses to read tiny newspaper print.”

“God, you can talk, Martha! Heaven help me, but I married a chatterbox. Okay, enough said. Just bring whatever it’s called over here and show me what you’re going on about.”

“It’s an article about the recent New York Fashion Show…”

“And, pray tell, why would I be interested in the New York Fashion Show?”

“Because of what the models are wearing… or more to the point, what they’re not wearing.” 

“Fine. Give us a look. Holy jumping Judas! What’s with their boobs hanging out like that and being held up with strings of beads? And what are those things on that one’s boobs? It looks like she has a red rose on each nipple!”

“She does. See, I told you you’re not likely to see these in tomorrow’s paper. Keep scrolling. There’s more.”

“Yike! This one’s got an egg yolk plastered to her left boob. How did they manage that? Target practice? And what about this one with the letter K on each nipple? Must be K for kinky heh heh. How on earth do they keep those in place?”

“Those are called pasties.”

“Pastries? Like the ones you eat? That’s getting pretty blatant, isn’t it?”

“Pasties, not pastries, Matthew! Are your hearing aid batteries dead again?”

“Don’t shout! I heard you that time. So what’s with these pasties?”

“Pasties allow women to wear completely see-through tops showing the full breast but hiding the nipple, like in this photo here.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“To hide the ‘point’ I guess…ha ha.”

“Oh stop being so punny! But tell me: who would wear these pastry gowns…if you can call them gowns?” 

“It’s pasty, not pastry! And as for who would wear them, well not me. That’s for sure!”

“Thank heaven for that, darling. They couldn’t find pasties big enough for your knockers!”

“Oh, puh-leeze Matthew! Need I remind you how you couldn’t keep your eyes off these knockers…as you call them…way back when?” 

“Martha, that was way back then. But you haven’t answered my question. Who would wear gowns like these and where?” 

“Well, according to the article…and I must say the writer loves puns more than I do…it’s our younger generation. They have fewer hangups than we do. Of course, one day their rose-tipped hangups will be hanging down like mine, so I guess they feel they may as well show them off now while they’re worth looking at. Like you used to say, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. So they do. And as for where they go dressed like this…I guess clubs, parties, whatever.”

“Gees, if that doesn’t invite unwanted attention…or is it wanted? Somehow it all makes me feel very old-fashioned.”

“Oh sweetheart, you’re not so much old-fashioned as traditional. Not fully liberated from your religious upbringing.”

“So you’re saying this trend to let everything hang out is a further extension of women’s liberation then?”

“Probably. Mind you, the article does put some of the blame on Covid…”

“Covid? What’s Covid got to do with it?”

“Well, when we were all isolated in our homes and couldn’t go to work, let alone doll up and go to parties, people had no reason to dress up. Everyone started spending all day in sweatpants…”

“Yeah, I remember seeing you wearing your jammies and housecoat all day. For that matter, you’re still in your housecoat now and it’s nearly noon.”

“Matthew, we’re retired. I have nowhere in particular to go and no one to dress up for.”

“So I’m a no-one?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“I’m just joshing, cupcake. I know what you mean. So does that article tell you where you can buy those pastries…I mean pasties?”

“No, but we could ask our daughters.”

“Our daughters? Don’t tell me they wear pasties when they go out. I thought we raised our girls better than that!”

“We did, but they are way more tuned in to all this stuff than we are and they have younger friends who are really into trends.” 

“Ha…now you’re a poet and don’t even know it.”

“Very funny. But, why do you ask where one can buy pasties?”

“Well, I just kinda wonder what you would look like wearing pasties under a soft pink see-through blouse...”

“Matthew Banter! You’re naughty!”

“And you love it. Come here my chatterbox and sit on my lap.”

“And what? Give you a heart attack?”

“Martha, if your incessant chatter hasn’t killed me yet, a little cuddle certainly won’t.