Chicken cutlets, in the real world, are defined as pieces of meat that are made from thinly sliced or pounded chicken breast. But every party girl knows the real definition. Chicken cutlets are a reusable silicone bra that sticks to your body and hoists the girls up while pushing them together, so that you may wear scandalous outfit without allowing your undergarments to show. See also: “sticky boobs.”
I have a very special relationship with my sticky boobs. They have made it through date parties, formals, weddings, day drinking events, spring breaks, and so on. They also make it seem like my boobs are defying gravity while continuing to confuse and excite the male species. But, as we all know, adhesive and sweating is a lethal combination that ruins lives. I found this out the hard way when I came home from a night out with only one sticky boob standing and the other completely MIA. With that being said, it is in your best interest to replace them before this type of situation unfolds. When I am at Target doing my new semester school supplies haul, I make sure to add them to the list: Three notebooks? Check. Pencils? Check. Highlighters? Check. Batteries for my calculator? Check. And for my vibrator? Check. Sticky boobs? Check.
When you get that new pair of chicken cutlets home, it’s hard not to admire the shiny silicone, clean smell and factory new stickiness that makes your smile wider than it should. There is nothing that stands in your way, leotards, backless dresses, scandalous crop tops, crochet tops, honestly, whatever your heart desires. When deciding what to wear out that night, it’s assumed that you’re going to pick something that doesn’t involve a back. As expected, you got a little more attention from males and girls were saying, “Oh my god, I want your boobs.” Taking them off for the first time is no piece of cake; seriously, it is one of the most painful feelings and there is no shame in checking to make sure your nipples didn’t rip off with them.
This honeymoon stage only lasts for so long and after a few wears the adhesive magic starts to wear down, your spray tans have come off on them and they might as well be called “P.F. Chang’s Orange Chicken Cutlets.” Also, you let your best friend borrow them, who let her big borrow them, who let her roommate borrow them. When returned, you found so much shit gunked on them and you are absolutely positive they didn’t look like that when you lent them out, ew. But, you know they have a few solid last wears out of them, so you’re not discouraged by the fact that someones stray black nipple hair is now stuck onto you.
The only downfall to wearing sticky boobs is what happens when a guy takes you home and he takes your shirt off. Instead of being greeted with a nice lacey bra or (wishful thinking) your boobs, there are chicken breasts where your fun bags should be. Then it gets awkward. Do you pull them off? Does he try to do it and watch you squirm in pain? Also, what the hell do you do with them when they are off? Throwing them on the ground is definitely out of the question because they are known to be a hair, dirt, and lint magnet. This internal struggle is what led to the end of my three-month relationship with my sticky boobs.
When put in the situation spelled out above, I thought it would be really, really funny to stick them on his wall like some sort of idiot. Why I thought that would make things less awkward and make me seem like a really chill-cool-hilarious-IDGAF about anything kind of gal is honestly so beyond me at this point. I assume about two minutes later they fell off his wall and joined the dirty pile of laundry covering his floor. They were forgotten in the morning as all I could focus on was making it home to my bed, eight gallons of water, four blue Gatorades and a bagel before my hangover killed me.
The next weekend, I was going to a date party and of course borrowed a dress from a roommate that had no back and required the help of my sticky boobs. On the day of the event, I spent two hours tearing through my room, texting anyone and everyone that might have borrowed them without my knowledge or trying to find another pair to use because I really didn’t want to lower myself to using Band-Aids as nipple covers. My little then remembered I told her a story about sticking them on a guy’s wall when I was blacked out and asked if there was a chance he still had them. I realized that she was probably right and texted him, hoping that would finally solve the case of the missing cutlets. He did indeed find them in his room earlier in the week. He sent the above picture and noted that they have become a staple in his window decorations and I shouldn’t be expecting to get them back anytime soon. I guess the saying, “finders keepers, losers weepers” still applies to 22-year-olds.