Fresh out of college, I moved to New York and was looking for a job. I’d spent two years in Rome and spoke Italian, and because of this I landed a job at the Banco di Sicilia on Park Avenue. It was a luxurious bank with floor to ceiling tinted windows. My job as receptionist was to greet clients when they walked in and answer phone calls. The clients weren’t ordinary customers with regular bank accounts. They were of a different caliber, mostly stylish Italian men in tailored suits and polished loafers with tassels. For this job, I had to make sure to dress well, usually in a skirt and blouse. My wardrobe was limited so I was often picking something up on sale during my lunch break. One morning I met my uncle for breakfast at the Yale Club. I threw on a skirt and a nice new white blouse I’d bought the day before. I was rushed putting it on for the first time that morning and it was snug. During breakfast, I excused myself to go the ladies’ room. As I washed my hands, I peeked at myself in the mirror and was suddenly horrified. The blouse was transparent, and the bra underneath was equally transparent, which revealed two round, pink circles. I quickly tore off two squares of toilet paper and placed one square on each, then headed back out to breakfast. I wore that shirt all day at work, and only later did it dawn on me how ridiculous those two squares must have looked.