Tough Titties

Since it is October, or OctBOOBer as we like to call it on TBB, it’s time to share one of my all time favorite celebrity encounters. I’ve been teasing this story on Twitter for a while and I am sure some of you have been trying to figure out who the offender could be, and I am ready to talk. 

 
Before I start I just want to put a little disclaimer up. I am a woman with an extremely efficient moral compass and I pondered if I should even tell this story after learning today that there are some younger eyes watching me. A friend mentioned my site to her teenage daughter, only to find her daughter wide eyed and in excited shock. “Tara is the Bravo Bitch?” she said, “All the kids at school talk about that website and read it.” So now I know, I’m cool with the high school crowd and not as much the aging fart I feared. I realize this is a huge responsibility on my end, and telling a story about an impromptu boob grab lacks appropriateness.  But, being I too was once in high school, I rationalize that they know what boobs are and chances are their’s are being grabbed anyway, so here we go.
 
 
Picture it, 2000, New York City’s Culture Club. I was 24 and in a new and exciting relationship. We were out for a night of drinking, dancing, and whatever other trouble we could find. The club was packed and we headed over to the bar to get our dancing shoes (ahem liquor…we were legal, don’t get any ideas kids) on. On our way over, pushing through the crowd, something pushed against me and squeezed. “Hey,” I screamed, “that guy touched my breast.” My boyfriend in a gallant act of chivalry grabbed the pervert. “You trying to be a tough guy?” he snapped at him. “No, no, it was an accident, I just play one. I fell, I was trying to catch myself,” the molester protested. Suddenly my knight in shining armor morphs into a frat boy. At this point I can’t hear what is going on, but I see handshaking and smiles exchanged. My lame excuse for a protector walks toward me grinning like a child who was just handed a piece of candy.
 
“Is that how you defend my honor?” I say totally deflated by his actions, I thought this guy was better than that. “Do you know who that was?” he says, still sporting that gigantic grin. “I don’t care if it was God,” I huffed, “he grabbed my boob and your job is not to smile and shake his hand.” “But that was Michael Imperioli, you know, Christopher, on the Sopranos.” Now both of us were huge Soprano fans, but being a lady I continued to act annoyed. “It was an accident, he was trying to break a fall,” my man pleaded like he was a lawyer on a case. I rolled my eyes thinking how ridiculous boys are, but let it go, I mean there was an apology, and really, how many women can say a Soprano squeezed their proverbial Charmin?
 
Well many years later and that boyfriend is now my husband and father of my two sons, Sopranos is long gone, and Michael Imperioli remains the most famous person to ever fondle me. Speaking of which, I did run into him again later on that evening. He was sitting a few rows ahead of us on some bleachers being hounded by a noisy group of bachelorette party goers. I was coming down to head to the ladies room. As I tried to break through the small crowd one of the girls yelled in my face, “Hey, I’m meeting him next, wait your turn.” “I just want to go to the ladies’ room,” I replied, at which moment Mr. Imperioli stood up, grabbed my wrist and helped me down the steps. “Thank you,” I said, “And you are lucky you only grabbed my wrist this time.”
 
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