Ah, the fair.

Breasts Breasts Breasts
<--not my breasts

Having not been harassed, nearly enough, on my first visit I was determined to bodice up on the 2nd. Upon my visit to Hearts Delight I selected a bodice and my breasts were then manhandled into position. I told her I had far set breasts but she didn’t quite believe me when I told her I would never have that bodice squished crack, where many a women stick roses and other accouterments to taunt many a male. She was thusly defeated when no amount of ratcheting up and pulling-in worked. We then began a conversation on how she had a breast reduction, which by the way, you could not tell! And that I could get surgery to correct my uneven breast issue. As one apparently folds differently than another, it has nothing to do with size but the way it forms. I stood fascinated. I said, I thank thee, glancing downward. You see she said, and she showed me- Wow, hazah I said hazah, wow.
Afterward my friend kerry began her unhealthy fascination with all the breasts that were spilling out, sagging, bulging, getting sun burnt. Because the Ren Faire is notoriously a place wear large women, older women, can let it all hang out... or at least for the rest, or the slightly breasted, where their breasts may be on display and not looked at askance and when harassed for sexual favors, generally amused and not horrified. I had pastry flakes down my bodice, after lunch, (t’was a tasty toad-n-hole) and was fishing them out on two separate occasions while walking down a path, when I was asked by young men if I could be assisted. May I help thee with that? Nay, I thank thee… But first was the wry smile of consideration.

My friend kerry was reminded that not all the people outside of LA are beautiful people. And that in LA we have a particular concentration of them. At best i think, you have to be willing to play when at the Ren Faire. Like when you were a kid and you never thought once about the adventure you were having, you just talked in a certain way and longed to be in a different place, and made yourself there. Beautiful or Ugly. Plain or Fetching. Whether with flowers in your hair, ribbons or a sheet wrapped around you. My friend Callie wanted to be carried off by a knight, slightly dreaded the prospect, but slightly sad when it never happened. Since of course I’m sure they have rules for those sorts of things... I would say both my friends are very carry-off-able and i would've done my best to smack the villain on the head with my basket and say, Nay, nay, hold off! And then i'd start screaming for my 'father' or the sheriff. And then you note when not in LA that no matter, you’re desirable, you’re flesh and blood, and there are men and women, and beer and turkey legs, and maypole dancing and it seems so much more authentic than the chimera that I work in.

Either way attending the RenFaire makes you face your judgmental attitude towards those living the fantasy or makes you long for it. The occasional shirtless, well-built and tan, Scotsman with the sword helps too. Or the knights and swords and merry flags, trumpets and the queens processional, or hearing Greensleeves a’cappella, and knife jugglers or comedians on tightropes, and the irish dancers and the bagpipes, and the dusty road, and the cute children, and the cry of ‘GodSaveTheQueen’… and plenty of breasts.