Definitely C

"What size bra do you think I wear? I'm at least a B, probably a C, right?"

We had just finished picking out a bridal shower present for a friend at Victoria's Secret, and were currently standing in the middle of Banana Republic looking at sports coats. It's odd how when you're sequestered in the corner of a store, no matter how crowded, you can always feel a little alone.

"I don't know," I answered, despite having seen him topless on a number of occasions (mostly when doing henna on his back). "I'd have to feel you up to know for sure." What a terrible, terrible lie. I couldn't possibly guess a cup size from feeling a person up.

"Well," he asked lowering his voice and crossing his arms under his pecks as he flexed, "do you want to?" He had strategically angled himself such that I could easily cop a feel with no one being any the wiser.

I turned, closing the gap between us, as if to do just that, in a hushed voice I said, "more than you know," and proceeded to keep my hands to myself.

I think he was a little disappointed.

Well, you know what, buddy? It took a lot of restraint, but I think, in the end, it was better for both of us.