My “Bill Cosby story” pales in comparison to the stories that brought Cosby to jail. Essentially, on a summer Sunday afternoon in 1992, I was walking down Madison Ave. after visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was wearing a blue cotton, tie-died jumpsuit, with spaghetti straps. One of the straps had slipped off my shoulder and my bra strap was showing. As a woman with large breasts and small shoulders, keeping my clothes in place has been a losing battle since puberty.