Lela tied her hair up with a ribbon and smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt. Today she was going to visit the man who made whalebone corset stays, his handiwork coveted by corset makers far and near. Her grandmother wore a corset morning noon and night, the weight and heft of her bosoms too much to bare unaided. She cinched the hammock strings round the small of her back, never quite mastering a bow or a stiff knot. She slept on her side, face pressed into the mattress, her bosom ballasted against the bed frame. Upon awaking each morning she rolled onto her back, and levering her arms under her hips hoisted herself from bed, the side of her face quilted with eider feathers. The corset maker, a sober man with blue brown eyes, paid home visits, measuring her grandmother for the latest in corset ware. He drew chalk-lines round her bosom and shoulders, making sure to measure off the distance between her shoulder blades, lest one, being lower than the other, set her off kilter or to one side. The Rosario Corset Co., known far and wide for their fit-to-order corsets and corset accessories, used only the finest whalebone. They hawked corsets and corset accessories from their table at the church bazaar, the basement frantic with bosomy woman and fat children.
The man in the hat found a book under the floorboards. He began reading, his eyes tracing words and squiggles across the page, It was one of those head-gears of composite order, in which we can find traces of the bearskin, shako, billycock hat, sealskin cap, and cotton night-cap; one of those poor things, in fine, whose dumb ugliness has depths of expression, like an imbecile's face. Oval, stiffened with whalebone, it began with three round knobs; then came in succession lozenges of velvet and rabbit-skin separated by a red band; after that a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard polygon covered with complicated braiding, from which hung, at the end of a long thin cord, small twisted gold threads in the manner of a tassel. The cap was new; its peak shone…[1]. He placed the book on the night-table next to his cot, and musing said ‘…a billycock, I must get myself one of those…’.
[1] Gustav Flaubert, Madam Bovary
The man in the hat found a book under the floorboards. He began reading, his eyes tracing words and squiggles across the page, It was one of those head-gears of composite order, in which we can find traces of the bearskin, shako, billycock hat, sealskin cap, and cotton night-cap; one of those poor things, in fine, whose dumb ugliness has depths of expression, like an imbecile's face. Oval, stiffened with whalebone, it began with three round knobs; then came in succession lozenges of velvet and rabbit-skin separated by a red band; after that a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard polygon covered with complicated braiding, from which hung, at the end of a long thin cord, small twisted gold threads in the manner of a tassel. The cap was new; its peak shone…[1]. He placed the book on the night-table next to his cot, and musing said ‘…a billycock, I must get myself one of those…’.
[1] Gustav Flaubert, Madam Bovary
1 comment:
Oh yes, it can throw off the whole spine if your breasts are off kilter.
did you see Stephen? Meta Schmeta: Cautionary Tales for the Self-Obsessed
Gruppo Rubato, mutatis mutandis & Evolution Theatre have teamed up to provide you with a hilarious evening of plays with a "meta" twist. Recommended for any theatre lover, the line-up includes plays by Beckett, Durang, Gauthier & MacIvor. At $20 for all four plays, this is an event you will surely not want to miss. Meta Schmeta: Nov 26 - 29 @8pm (additional Pay What You Can matinee on the 29th @ 4pm) Arts Court Theatre (2 Daly Ave.) Box Office: 613-564-7240
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