When I first heard the name of the woman who was censured by Christchurch Casino for wearing a low-cut dress and exposing too much in the way of boobs, I thought the woman concerned was Heather Simpson, Helen Clark's chief of staff. Crikey, I thought. What a story!
In actual fact, it turned out to be a Helen Simpson, who looks nothing at all like Heather Simpson, and I'd got the wrong end of the stick. Nonetheless, it's still a great story. I thought boobs and casinos went together like James Bond and Sean Connery. Certainly, when I was a guest of the Christchurch Casino at their poker tournament, they didn't seem averse to me and Nicky Watson having our boobs up and out there.
It seems absurd that you can be asked to leave a casino for showing too much flesh. Certainly, Helen Simpson's a big girl. But they're all hers. It's not like she had them artificially and ridiculously augmented. As she says, they're God given and when you've got boobs like that, life can be miserable. You have to learn to accommodate them by either hiding yourself away in neck to knee jobs or by flaunting them. Clearly Helen's gone with the second option and why not?
She wasn't attending a funeral service or going along for a job interview or taking part in a parent helper session at the local school. She was on a night out at the casino. Would that more people glammed it up when going out on the tiles.
What's more offensive - nylon slacks and a homespun jersey with grey zip up shoes, or a little black dress and a whopper cleavage? I'd love to know who laid the complaint against Helen and her hooters - whether it was a thin-lipped woman or a bristling old codger, although I suppose it doesn't really matter. And certainly, the situation could have been handled a whole lot better by the casino staffer. Maybe to prevent any more stories of this nature the casino could add a proviso to its dress code: 'Neat and tidy attire is required at all times. No jeans. And no overt displays of genetic abundance.'
