"Has something new happened to women in New York?" Chuck asked me. "Something seems to have happened to their bodies. Their breasts seem to be bigger. And they jiggle."

I looked at him in astonishment. We were having brunch at Orloff's before going to the Malcolm Bilson concert at Alice Tully Hall. He had appeared to be deeply engrossed in reading Chance or Chaos, the science book he'd brought along. So this comment took me completely by surprise. What could have prompted it, I wondered, looking up from the section of the Sunday Times I was perusing, just in time to see a well-endowed young woman pass by.

"How come you say that?" I asked. I was curious now about such a broad generalization - no pun intended. "Do you go around the street staring at women's breasts?"

"No," he said, sounding extremely offended. "Of course I don't go around the street staring at women's breasts. It's just that I have good peripheral vision," he explained. "I have even better peripheral vision than I do when I'm playing basketball."

I'll bet you have better peripheral vision about breasts than about basketball, I thought to myself. I wondered why he'd even bothered adding this last statement. I knew it wasn't to boast. He doesn't boast. It must, I concluded, have been intended as a diversion. Well, it would never work. He might as well forget about that. I'm not that stupid. And frankly, I couldn't care less about how he uses his peripheral vision in basketball. On the other hand, I was really curious about how he uses his peripheral vision to look at breasts.

"You mean," I said, still astonished. "That all the time I've been walking down the street thinking about ideas or noticing the buildings or listening to the birds sing, you've been looking to see if women's breasts jiggle." I was astonished. To think how little I know this man who I've been walking down streets with for thirty-five years. All this time with not a clue about what he looks at. I mean, thirty-five years is a long time to be clueless.

"It's the lycra," Chuck explained knowingly. "They're all wearing lycra."

This blew my mind. Lycra? Since when does Chuck know about lycra? Since when does he know more about women's fashions than I do? I had no idea that everyone on the streets was wearing lycra. So that men could see their breasts jiggle with their peripheral vision. Where had I been all this time? How innocent can you get? Innocent? Ignorant is more like it!

I only knew about platform shoes. That was the fashion statement I had opted into. And very proudly, too. I thought I had a right to be proud that at my age I wasn't letting the latest fashion trends pass me by.

But now? Is it possible that my own husband knows more about the latest fashion trends than I do? I had no idea about lycra. And I never even notice women's breasts. I didn't know they were supposed to jiggle. Worse still, here I was, going around in over-sized tee shirts. That, I decided, is what happens when you walk down the street looking at buildings and listening to birds.

From now on I would try to be more observant about fashion trends. I'd try to notice what women were wearing from the ankles up.

We got to the concert hall without exchanging another word about jiggling breasts. But no sooner were we inside, than Chuck began to comment on the musicians' outfits.

"It's not fair," Chuck said. "The men all have to wear suits. But the women get to wear whatever they want." He paused suddenly. "Do I see some bare midriff on one of the violin players?" he asked.

"Which one?" I wanted to know. I was annoyed. I hadn't noticed a thing. Was I still that unobservant? I was surprised at the acuteness of Chuck's vision. Peripheral or regular. I couldn't be sure. "Do her breasts jiggle, too?" I asked. I meant to be sarcastic.

But Chuck didn't answer. As if to imply that so gauche a question could scarcely be taken seriously. As if to imply that even he had his limits. As if to imply that even he understood that jiggling breasts were inappropriate in a concert hall. I mean, this isn't the street now. Is it?

Soon we were back again on the street. "Did you see that girl?" I asked. "Did you see those legs? I wonder who she is. She has to be a ballet dancer."

Chuck didn't seem that interested. "Ballet dancers don't jiggle," he said.

August, 1998
BB