As inappropriate as my boobs usually are in social settings, I honestly do try to cover up while at work. The word “try” is the key here, as I often fail miserably in my attempts to appear professional and appropriate – it does not help at all that we have a casual dress code, and I buy all my clothing based on a sliding scale of sluttiness.

Still, I do own a few pieces of clothing that, at first glance, might be able to withstand the corporate world. One such shirt was something I had purchased at Old Navy – a short sleeve purple and white checkered pullover with a collar and 4 buttons. I figured I could just do the buttons up to hide my magnificent valley, and all would be good.

As usual, I underestimated the power of my mighty bosom. I could do up the last button, but the third and second buttons gaped and pulled as they strained to contain the uncontainable. Worse, by doing up the last button, I created a push-up effect and made the inappropriate nearly obscene. It was bad. It was one of those moments when I looked in the mirror and was embarrassed for myself. And naturally, it was a day that I didn’t get a chance to inspect my appearance until almost noon.

I sit in a low-traffic corner at work, and normally could just bury myself in documentation until it was time to go home – but not today. I had an afternoon full of meetings with people ranging from fellow managers to my succession of bosses and even a few external vendors – I HAD to cover up, and do it quickly. Luckily, I had worn a cardigan over my shirt. Problem solved! Except .. well, I buy my cardigans with the same rule as the rest of my clothes. It had a deep v-neck, and did little to cover up anything. I was screwed – short of running out and buying an ascot, there was no discernable way for me to cover my shame before my next meeting started.

Or WAS there? The problem was that the shirt simply did not have enough give in the chestal area to cover my boobs. The material wasn’t stretchy in any way, so there was no way to me to manipulate it into behaving. I knew this was going to take some drastic MacGyvering, so I thought quickly – I COULD stuff some Kleenex down the front of my shirt and claim it was a bib, but that might have the opposite affect (as well as make me look somewhat silly). Safety pins (or the office equivalent, a stapler) would only draw attention to the area I was trying to hide. There was no time to go out and buy a new shirt, and I didn’t have a coat. There was only one thing left to do.

I grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced the shirt up the back. The cut was hidden by my cardigan, and now the shirt had enough give to cover my buoyant assets. In fact, the outfit was downright adorable now – after I checked out my handiwork in the bathroom, our extremely fashion-conscious receptionist remarked on how cute my shirt was. Success! I was decent AND cute, and all it took was destroying my clothing with a pair of scissors!

I actually kept the shirt like that, thinking I would wear it again but sadly, it got tossed in the move.

I wish I could say I had learned my lesson, but this is me and I do not learn: I had an identical shirt in solid black, and not two months later I had to do the exact same thing because of the exact same scenario: too much boob at work, and the shirt was sacrificed in the name of decency.

I really, really need handlers when I go shopping.